Losses
by Miri1984
Summary: Four years after the Blight. Miranda and Alistair deal with challenges to their throne and their relationship. Rated M for later chapters. Politics and Intrigue and other fun stuff, but starts with a fair bit of angst and sadness - you are warned!
1. Chapter 1

She was so pale, that was what struck him the most. She usually had such a bright flush to her cheeks, especially when she laughed, but this latest blow had left her paler than a wisp and a shell of her former self.

He stroked her hair as she slept - exhausted, still in pain, bereaved. It was getting too much for both of them. When he'd said they would have difficulty, he'd never imagined the difficult would come _this _way - in his head it had all been attempts and no half-successes that were really worse than failures - their hopes - _her _hopes raised and crushed with such regularity.

He had called for Rowan. Although the court physicians were competent and they even had a spirit healer, he knew Miranda would feel better with Wynne's son there. The young man had so much of his mother about him, not just her knowledge but her compassion and understanding, that it was difficult to believe he had only known her for six months. This time he would be staying.

There was a hesitant knock at the door and it opened a crack to reveal Leliana. "Alistair," she said softly. "Eamon is here. He wishes to speak with you."

"Tell him to come back later," he said shortly.

She slipped into the room in her silent way and came up next to him, laying her gentle hand on his arm. "She's asleep," she whispered. "She won't even know you're gone. I'll stay with her."

He looked up at her with anguish in his eyes. Leliana ran a hand through his hair gently, as she would for a child and he nodded then, standing up and taking a deep breath. The bard took his place at Miranda's side, gently taking the Queen's hand and sitting in Alistair's chair.

At the door he found Zevran, on guard as usual. The Antivan gave Alistair a nod that was at the same time full of sympathy and he had a moment to feel grateful for friends before he took a deep breath and started towards his offices.

The Arl hadn't changed much in four years. His hair was tending towards white at the temples now, and there were more lines around his eyes, but he was still straight and sure. His son Connor was doing very well at the Tower, it was rumoured, and Alistair had managed to relax the rules a fair bit as far as contact between young mages and their parents was concerned, much to the chantry's disapproval.

"It's not a good time, Eamon," Alistair said as he entered.

The Arl's face softened in sympathy. "I'm aware," he said. "I'm sorry. How is she?"

"Sleeping," Alistair replied shortly.

"This is the third, isn't it?" He nodded. "Again, I'm sorry. And this isn't a good time for this, I know, but unfortunately it's not going to go away because we're in mourning."

Alistair sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Please, sit," he said to the older man. Eamon sat in front of Alistair's desk. Alistair moved to his own chair and sat, placing his hands in front of him. The desk was littered with correspondence - all of which had to be dealt with, none of which had been tended for the past two days. "What's this about?"

The Arl sighed. "Anora," he said. Alistair drew in his breath sharply. "She's petitioning for your marriage to Miranda to be anulled."

He was too tired for the news to do other than set a slow fire burning in his belly and he sighed. "You were right, I should have executed her."

"You had - and still do have very valid reasons for not doing so," Eamon said. "Don't blame yourself, son. If Anora hadn't put the petition forward, someone else would have."

"The problem remains, eh?" he said then. "Until we can have an heir, they're going to continue to blame Miranda for something that may not even be her fault."

"You said.."

"Eamon, there's no guarantee I'll be able to father a child with _anyone." Not strictly true, _a voice in his head said._ "_We really don't know whose fault it is. I won't abandon her."

"I know you won't," Eamon said then. "I'm not asking you to. But we're going to have to deal with this as a challenge to your rule."

"Why is she doing this? Anora's been named as my heir should we fail to have a child. I would have thought she would be pleased at the thought that we might not be able. Does she really think this will further her cause?"

"Maybe she's afraid you will outlive her."

He opened his mouth to say something in reply, then closed it. _He _knew, and Miranda knew that it was unlikely, but no one else outside the wardens were aware of their lifespan limitations.

He got to his feet and started to pace the room, his mind starting to race. "Has she put forward any alternatives?" he said. "Maker, she's not suggesting _she _marry me, is she?"

Eamon shook his head. "No, not yet. I only received this information two days ago and given that the queen was still..."

"You thought it might not even be relevant. Blast it all. That woman is just like her father."

"Less murderous, by all accounts, but in her desire for power over Ferelden, yes."

"How much support does she have?"

"Not enough to call a landsmeet on the issue," Eamon said. "Enough to set people talking, however."

"Have you gauged the support _we _have on this?"

"Teagan is looking into it. I suggest you set your lovely bard on the same task - she is most adept at judging the moods and inclinations of Ferelden nobles, and can reach people who would ignore my brother."

"She'll be happy to have something to distract her, I'm sure," Alistair said.

Eamon got to his feet. "That's really all I've come to tell you," he said. "I should get back to Isolde. Once again, Alistair, I'm sorry for your loss."

Alistair clasped his former guardian's hand warmly. "Thank you for coming to me so early, Eamon," Alistair said. "It means a lot to me that you'll stand by us."

"She's worth it, my friend," Eamon said. "I always knew she was. Take care of her?"

"Always."

When he returned to their quarters Miranda was awake and sitting up. She looked better, less pale. The court physician had said that the bleeding would continue for the better part of a week, but it was slowing. Leliana was playing for her and singing in a soft voice - an Orlesian tune, one that Miranda had always loved. The bard looked up as he entered and smiled.

"Would you leave us, Lelli?" Miranda said then. Her voice was soft but steady, he was relieved to hear. It held no trace of tears.

"My love," he said as Leliana left the room quietly. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," she said. "Still sore, but much better."

He took her hand and sat on the bed. "I'm so sorry," he began, but she put a finger to his lips.

"It's all right, Alistair," she said. "Really. I think I'm getting used to it."

It was a horrible thing for her to have to say and he felt it like a dagger through his stomach. He couldn't say anything in reply for a moment, instead he turned her hand over in his and traced his fingers over her palm. The band on her ring finger glinted in the light from the windows and he felt the slow fire of anger kindled by Eamon's news catch and burn more intensely for a moment.

"I wanted to ask you something," she said then. "Or... actually.." she sighed and looked at the window for a moment. "I think it might be time for me to give up my duties as Warden Commander," she said finally.

He had been agitating for her to do so for nearly a year, but to hear her say it nearly broke his heart. She had always maintained that being Queen didn't necessitate her being nothing else, and she was beloved by the Ferelden wardens, who called her Commander (and even Miranda) when she was in residence at the Vigil. Although they chafed at separation, he knew she relished the freedom of being in command in a place where people looked on her as an equal, not as the Queen or even the hero of Ferelden and for her to admit that she needed to give it up...

"Miranda, you don't have to.."

"It's not the duties I don't want," she interrupted him. "You know I love it. It's... being away from you. I don't want that any more. I need to be here."

He tried a smile. "If you hadn't insisted on making me king..."

She smiled with him. "It was very evil of me. I apologise."

"Do you think it's the right time to be making this decision?" he said then. "You might change your mind when you're... in a few weeks. I don't want you to do this without thinking it through."

She nodded. "I was going to give it up anyway.. if we.. had the child.." she stopped and bit her lip, shaking her head a little. "Fighting darkspawn isn't really compatible with pregnancy. As it is we need to start again and I can't afford to be running to the Vigil every couple of months if we're serious about that...."

There was a pause. After the previous miscarriage Alistair had exchanged lengthy correspondence with Rowan and the other mage-healers at the circle. He had never told Miranda what that correspondence had entailed.

"My love," he said. "Rowan.... informed me what the mages do to ensure they don't conceive. If you like..."

She squeezed his hand tightly and shook her head firmly. "No," she said. "As long as there's a chance, we keep trying."

He'd known what her answer would be. "We can hope that the information the mages gathered this time will be enough to help," he said after a pause. "I.. don't want you to have to go through this again. That's all."

She leaned forward and kissed him, cupping his cheek in her hand and running her other hand through his hair. "I know," she said when they broke apart. "But I'm strong enough. And so are you."

He couldn't say he wasn't, not when she was so determined.

But part of him wanted to.


	2. Chapter 2

A day later she was up and about again - still pale, but energetic. A week later she looked like nothing had happened, but Alistair could see the fragility in her and it pained him more than anything had in the last four years.

Life had been more than good for the first year after the blight. Their wedding - rebuilding Denerim - re-establishing talks with Orlais - all had gone so smoothly it was almost as if Thedas was bending over backward to compensate for what it had put them through.

When Miranda fell pregnant it was like icing on a particularly tasty cake. They didn't tell anyone at first, but the news spread through the palace quickly - that the Queen was ill in the mornings (and sometimes throughout the day) - that she was picky about her food....

They lost the first baby just before Miranda was called to the Vigil. She was desperately upset about it at first, then sanguine. _It happens, my love, _she had said. _There's no reason to believe it's because of the taint._

All the same Alistair determined that the next time she would be monitored more closely. Because of her duties as Warden Commander the next time didn't happen for another two years. Rowan and Anders had come to the palace as soon as they were called, but they arrived too late. The second pregnancy ended almost as soon as they knew it had begun.

This time, however, the mages were able to confirm it was because of the taint in their blood. Miranda was distraught. Rowan paid a visit to Avernus at Soldier's Peak (although he had confessed to Alistair that he could barely tolerate the man). A plan was formulated - research was conducted. Rowan was certain he knew what he needed to do and passed the information to the court physician. Anders stayed in the palace to act as a warden mage, necessary for detecting the taint in both mother and baby.

They waited another year. Again Miranda's duties as Warden Commander had her traveling away from him on a regular basis. He had diplomatic trips to conduct. They spent barely six months of that year in each other's company.

This time, she had been so certain it would end well. That was what had hurt him the most - she had been optimistic. Anders had been able to implement the techniques Avernus and Rowan had researched.

The pregnancy had lasted almost into the fourth month.

And now Anora was trying to separate them. For reasons of her own. Just because she wasn't satisfied with holding her father's Terynir. She was unmarried and childless herself - that point annoyed him almost as much as.. well everything else about her - that she could be so sanctimonious about the need for an heir when if they didn't have one Ferelden would be in exactly the same spot with her as Queen.

It was politics, of course. Always politics. Although he had grown far less naive in the past four years he was not the political animal Anora, or even his wife was. He depended on Eamon's advice, and Leliana's and even Zevran's when it came to the ins and outs of alliances, and betrayals, and marriages amongst Ferelden's nobility.

Sometimes he wished he was still sleeping in the stables at Redcliffe.

Never back at the Chantry though.

Leliana spent the week after Eamon's news was delivered at dinners and balls and at the Gnawed Noble Tavern, gathering information, flirting, and generally being her usual highly skilled self. He had been surprised when she came back to the palace and asked to serve the crown - her devotion to the chantry and the Maker had not wavered in the year they fought the blight - but something about the way the Chantry had handled Andraste's remains had hardened her. She had traveled to Orlais briefly after leaving the ashes and when she returned she was, though still the Leliana he remembered, significantly less likely to invoke the name of the Maker. He had never had the courage to ask her what had transpired in Orlais. He suspected Miranda knew.

"Who are you going to appoint as Warden Commander?" he asked his wife on the morning Leliana was due to give her report. They were breakfasting in their rooms - a habit they had gotten into in the past few years.

"Sigrun," she said immediately. "Oghren will complain, but he really needs to spend more time with Felsi and little Miranda. I don't want him thinking of more excuses to duck out from them."

"I thought you were going to appoint Nathaniel?"

She rolled her eyes. "He refused. Point blank. That man is impossible," she said it with fondness, he noted. It still amazed him that she had made the son of the man who murdered her family a warden, but then she always had been a good judge of character.

"And of the senior wardens, that just leaves Sigrun and Anders... and Anders... well..." Alistair chuckled and Miranda grinned back at him. "He would never forgive me. Besides, Sigrun is the best. She's spent enough time in command while I've been away for it to be an almost automatic appointment."

"How do you think the Amaranthines will react to having a dwarf as their Arlessa?"

"It will do them good," Miranda said.

"The first warden doesn't have a preference?"

Miranda frowned. "His preference is that I stay as Warden Commander, divorce you and die lonely and shrivelled," she said shortly.

"Still angry with us?"

"The High Warden would very much like us both to have died defeating the archdemon. Then he could have put whomever he liked in charge of the Ferelden wardens."

"And probably ended up with the order exiled again, just in time for the sixth blight."

She nodded.

Alistair put down his fork and looked at his wife critically. She was bright eyed - the colour was back in her cheek. The bleeding had stopped - faster than Rowan had hoped, which was a very good sign. She was physically back to her old self. Only time would tell how she was emotionally.

"I have some news, my love, that you're not going to like."

Miranda cocked an eyebrow at him. "If it involves you going anywhere tonight, I have other plans that cannot be superseded."

He grinned at her. "I'm not going anywhere. Not for a long time, I hope. No, it's about Anora."

She put down her own cutlery. "Ah," she said.

"She's petitioning to have our marriage anulled."

He was prepared for an outburst of fury, a snide comment or a backhanded insult. Instead, his wife's shoulders slumped and she let out a heavy sigh of resignation. Again he had forgotten that she was a teryn's daughter. She had probably been expecting this for months.

"Is it too late to chop off her head?" she asked him.

"I'm hoping not."

"What does Eamon say?"

Alistair told her everything that Eamon had told him, including the fact that he'd sent Leliana on a fact finding mission. "She and Teagan should be here by lunch to give their reports. We can find out if it's worthwhile calling our own landsmeet before Anora gets enough support to do it herself."

"If this petition fails she'll probably try to have one or another of us assassinated. You realise that, don't you?"

Alistair pursed his lips and nodded. "It had occurred to me, yes," he said. "It's also occurred to me that this is just a distraction technique. Or a way to weaken me so she can challenge again."

Miranda got to her feet and moved to the window. He had a moment to admire the way she stood - straight backed, slender and shapely all at the same time. She wasn't soft, his wife, but she was feminine and he felt a twinge of desire run through him. He got up and moved behind her, encircling her in his arms. He also forgot how small she was - her head barely reached his shoulder, and yet she had plunged a sword deep into the brain casing of a dragon.

She leaned back into him. "Do you sometimes wish you'd refused? To be king?"

He nodded. "Sometimes," he said. "But as you told me, there are compensations."

"Such as?"

"Oh, there's cheese on demand, I don't have to wash my own socks.. there's this enormous, four poster bed I get to share with an incredibly attractive woman.."

"Really?" she turned to face him, encircling his waist with her arms. "And who might this woman be?"

"Just someone I picked up on the road..." he leaned in closer to her and lightly brushed her lips with his. It had been more than two weeks, he realised suddenly - painfully actually as the familiar electricity her kisses caused sparked through him. He forced himself to keep it gentle and soft, lightly teasing her lips with his tongue until he felt her strong arms lock around his neck, her mouth open and....

There was a knock at the door.

They ignored it for a few seconds before the knock came again. Alistair broke away and leaned his head on hers, laughing a little. "That would be what I would describe as the opposite of a compensation," he said softly. She ran her finger down his chest and let it rest lower for a moment, bringing heat to his face and a catch to his breath.

"Who is it?" she called, keeping her eyes on Alistair's. _Damn it, why was her voice so steady?_

"Apologies, your majesties," came a voice. "But there are messengers from the Anderfels here. And the Queen's brother has arrived."

"Fergus?" Miranda said. Stepping back and letting her hand drop. Alistair had other ideas and grabbed her arm and pulled her back close.

"Tell them we'll be there in ten minutes," he called, before burying his head in her neck, proud to hear his own voice as steady as his wife's.

"Ten minutes?" Miranda said breathlessly.

"Maybe twenty," he said.


	3. Chapter 3

_This chapter needed updating considering other fics I've written since. A bit of retrospective adjustment :)._

Half an hour later they were in Alistair's offices. Fergus was there, as was a dour man with blond hair and ice blue eyes. Miranda drew in a breath when she saw him and Alistair, feeling the taint in the man, guessed he was a warden from Weisshaupt.

"Luis," Miranda said, reaching out her hand. The blond man took it and clasped it briefly before letting it fall to his side.

"Commander," he said shortly.

"Actually, it's just 'your majesty' now, Luis," she said. "You have messages from Weisshaupt?"

"The First Warden requests the presence of the Warden Commander of Ferelden at the fortress," Luis said.

Alistair folded his arms across his chest. "It's a pity the Warden Commander isn't here to obey," he said. He didn't like the tone of Luis's "request" at all.

Fortunately, Miranda didn't seem at all phased by the man. "Indeed," she said. "I sent a message to Weisshaupt two weeks ago informing the High Commander that I have relinquished my position to another. It will not have reached him yet."

"Forgive me, your majesty..." Luis said, and he looked uncomfortable. "But all Warden Commander appointments need to go through the First Warden. You cannot relinquish your position."

"Then I suggest you take a message back to the High Commander informing him that he needs to travel here and make that new appointment. If he wishes to speak with me then, he may make an appointment at the palace to see the Queen of Ferelden." Her eyes flashed. "I may make the time to see him."

Luis' mouth twitched and Alistair suddenly felt less inclined to hate the man. "As you wish, your majesty," he said, bowing briskly. "May I ask who you intend to pass the position on to?"

"Sigrun," she said.

Luis smiled then, a brief flash of blindingly white teeth. "I doubt the First Warden will have any difficulties with that appointment," he said. "However, if you would be so good as to compose a formal reply?"

"Of course," she said.

The man bowed again and left the room. "Friend of yours?" Alistair said.

"Luis is a good warden," she said. "He spent quite a lot of time in Amaranthine - Oghren and Anders put a lot of effort into softening him up."

"Why does the First Warden want you in Weisshaupt?" he asked.

"Probably to tell me I need to change the way I wear my hair," she said. "Don't worry, Alistair. He's tried this trick a couple of times. I have no intention of going there. Sigrun can go once she's been officially appointed. She can handle him." She turned to Fergus and smiled.

The Teyrn of Highever grinned in reply and took his sister into an embrace before pulling back and looking at her critically. "Are you well?" he asked softly.

Only Alistair would have noticed the slight hitch of breath that said she wasn't and his heart ached for her, but she nodded firmly at Fergus. "What brings you to Denerim?" she asked.

"I actually came to see your husband," Fergus said then. Miranda cocked her eyebrow and Alistair stood up a little straighter.

"Really?" he said. "Oh, wait, that's right.. I'm king aren't I?"

The older man laughed. "Indeed, my liege," Fergus said and gave a short bow. "Happy news, I hope, to counter the other things I've been hearing. I seek your permission to wed."

"Ah!" Alistair grinned. "Now that is happy news. Who is the lucky lady?"

"Bann Gerald's eldest daughter, Maeve."

Alistair didn't know her, but Miranda let out a squeal of delight. "Oh, Fergus, she's lovely! I had no idea you were interested."

The Teyrn of Highever blushed. "Well, I wasn't. Not until a couple of months ago. But her father is quite keen for us to make an alliance."

"This is wonderful news," Alistair said, clasping Fergus's hand and clapping him on the shoulder. "Oh, and of course you have my permission."

"Thank you, your majesty," Fergus said. They all sat. Alistair rang the bell for a servant, feeling his belly rumble. Breakfast had been at least an hour ago. "Now, what's all this I hear about Anora making trouble?" Fergus asked.

They ate a second breakfast and filled Fergus in on the details of Anora's plans.

"Do you think it's possible this was sparked by news of your possible betrothal? I mean, people other than you and she know about it, don't they?" Miranda asked Fergus finally, looking pensive and thoughtful.

"We haven't troubled to keep it a secret, if that's what you mean," Fergus replied. "Why would that make a difference?" Alistair was also puzzled by the question, although he often had trouble following the twists of his wife's logic.

"Oh, please," Miranda said, rolling her eyes. "I can understand Alistair not really knowing what I mean, but surely you can guess my train of thought, brother? Or were you really sleeping through all of our father's lectures on politics?"

"You mean, she's afraid I'll have an heir?"

Alistair drew in his breath sharply. That hadn't occurred to him. He got to his feet and rang the bell again, this time requesting that Zevran join them. "Damn Anora," he said then. "She was trying to distract us."

The Antivan entered with characteristic silence. Fergus nodded at him - they'd met many times. "New troubles?" the elf said, cocking an eyebrow.

"I need you to dispatch two men to Bann Gerald's lands to stand guard over Lady Maeve. Actually, you might just have her brought here to Denerim - " he turned to Fergus " - can you stay here until the wedding? It will be easier to protect you both."

Fergus's mouth had dropped open and he nodded. "Yes.." he said finally. "I've left my seneschal in command, he's very capable. But do you really think this is necessary?"

Miranda's face had clouded - despite her words she hadn't realised the full implications of her speculation. "Fergus, whoever is behind this - and we think it's Anora, but we're not sure - they either want the throne, or want to destroy any chance of a clean succession. They will do anything for it."

"We'll sort this out, Fergus," Alistair said. "I promise. You and your lady won't have to be here for long."

Although Fergus looked shaken, he was too much like his sister for it to slow him down. He bowed to Alistair, kissed Miranda on her cheek and left the room. Zevran stayed, however.

"Sit down," Alistair asked the elf. "I wanted to talk to you in any case."

Zevran relaxed into a chair. Alistair still envied the elf his easy grace and stealth. Although since becoming king he had had fewer "all hands" moments, as Miranda called them, there were still times when he felt his body was too big for his soul, as though the Maker had mixed him up with someone else.

"We're speculating a lot here," Alistair said. "Anora's desire to separate me from Miranda may just be that and Fergus and Maeve might be in no danger at all. We can't really make any concrete decisions until we have more information."

Zevran nodded. "You would like me to find this information?"

"Not you specifically," Alistair said. "Anora knows you too well. But you still have.. contacts? No?"

"Do you wish to hire the crows, your majesty?"

"No. Well... no I don't. Not for what they usually are hired for in any case. I know Anora and Cailan had their own network of spies but despite Miranda's efforts we were never able to contact any of them once I took the throne. I suspect Anora took them with her. Leliana and you have done a good job so far, but we need a wider net."

Zevran nodded. "I understand. I can contact a few people here in Denerim. But I must warn you, the crows are not necessarily the right people for this sort of work."

Miranda leant forward in her chair. "Have you heard of the Dark Wolf?" she said.

Zevran's head snapped towards her. "Amaranthine?" he said. She nodded. Alistair remembered her mentioning the man as the person who had helped her uncover the conspiracy against her when she first became Warden Commander.

"It's worth a try," Alistair said.

"You will need someone new to guard the queen," Zevran said then.

"Leliana can handle it," Miranda said. "I'm not entirely helpless at the moment, Zev."

"Ah, yes," Zevran smiled. "I do seem to remember a certain warden turned royal saying something similar four years ago. And yet you still insisted I spend an inordinate amount of time in close proximity to him." Miranda grinned and took Alistair's hand. The elf sighed and got to his feet. "I do agree that Leliana is most skilled in that regard, however. And I have much work to do if we wish to crush these dastardly plots before they take flight, no?"

"Thank you, Zevran," Alistair said as the elf turned to go. Zevran bowed with a flourish and slipped out.

"An eventful morning," Miranda said, still holding his hand. He nodded, lost in thought for a moment, before he realised she had left her chair and was leaning in closer to him. He drew in his breath sharply. Their brief interlude before coming to meet Fergus and Luis had been too brief, he realised, because the scent of her was enough to make it impossible for him to stand up.

"You should probably lock the door, my love," he said huskily, as she breathed lightly on his neck and started to nibble up towards his ear . "The last thing we want is for someone to..."

There was a brief knock before the door opened. Miranda had just enough time to scramble back to her chair and Alistair had the presence of mind to cross his legs. A secretive smile played across his wife's lips that did nothing nothing at all to make his situation any less dire.

It was Anders. Worse and worse, he thought. His jaw ached, remembering a certain mage fist connecting with it on a certain drunken night at Vigil's keep. Anders was cheeky with everyone, but he barely tried to hide his antagonism towards the King, unless Miranda was with them. iShe/i thought it was hilarious.

"I'm sorry, your majesties," Anders said cheerfully. "Not interrupting anything am I?"

Alistair pressed his lips together and shook his head.

"Not at all, Anders," Miranda said sweetly. "What brings you here?"

His expression sobered somewhat. "Medical check ups, I'm afraid," he said. "Won't take long."

She smiled and stood. Alistair still wasn't able to, and gave her a somewhat desperate look. She grinned back down at him.

Anders placed one hand on her back and the other on her abdomen, closing his eyes. Alistair felt the familiar tingle of the mage's magic as he used both his training from the tower and his warden senses to feel Miranda's state. Although he knew there was absolutely nothing sexual in these check ups, he couldn't stop a pang of jealousy that the former apostate was touching her.

A few moments later Anders opened his eyes and dropped his hands. "All good," he said. "Everything's returned to normal, actually. You might consider trying again sometime in the next day or so - it's the right time and everything is functioning."

Miranda's eyes flashed with sudden hope. "Considering Rowan's on his way, that's very good news," she said. Alistair couldn't help his own thrill of excitement. _If you would just leave,_ he thought at Anders ferociously, _we could try right now..._

The mage turned to go and Alistair repressed a sigh of relief. The warden turned back, however, with a slight frown on his face and considered Alistair. "Are you sure you're feeling all right your majesty?" he said. "You seem a little... tense..."

Laughing a little, Miranda shooed him from the room "I have some excellent relaxation spells..." Anders called over his shoulder as he was hustled out. "Just say the word..." She locked the door and turned back to Alistair, still smiling.

"I think we can manage an hour before lunch," she said, reaching up to the neckline of her gown and beginning to unlace it. He watched for a moment, before eventually giving in to impulse and getting to his feet to take over. He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her bodily, burying his face in her bosom and letting out a throaty growl. She squealed in delight and twined her fingers in his hair.

"At least," he said, carrying her to the desk.


	4. Chapter 4

Leliana and Teagan met them in the dining room for a small affair. With two breakfasts under their belts already the warden King and Queen of Ferelden fell to the food with enthusiasm. Leliana picked delicately at hers, smiling at her two friends.

"So," Alistair said. "Teagan, you first. What's the mood of the Ferelden nobility on the surface?"

"I spoke with most of the Banns in residence in Denerim and its surrounds," Teagan said. "In public, support for you and the Queen has never been stronger. I heard no rumbles against you - no mention of the Queen's difficulties. Some of the Banns were.. suspiciously enthusiastic to be honest."

"Suspiciously?"

"I passed their names to Leliana," Teagan said, smiling at the bard. "I think she'll be able to tell you more."

Leliana's musical voice held a hint of amusement. "Indeed. On the surface it's all contentment and enthusiasm. Not so underneath."

Alistair sighed. "How bad is it?"

"Enough for some concern. At least five of the banns told me in private that they thought the Queen was barren and needed to be put aside. Two banns told me they thought you were both being controlled from Weisshaupt - that it is the Grey Wardens who are truly controlling Ferelden..."

Miranda snorted "Bann Osric and Bann Walter?" she asked.

Leliana looked surprised. "Why yes, your majesty."

"They're both a bit loopy," she said. "But it's worth knowing which conspiracy theory they're subscribing to now."

Leliana took a sip from her wine glass. "There were four banns who worried me," she said. "They talked of Loghain as a hero who was killed by a dangerous madman without a chance for a trial. They said Ferelden will only be safe with Anora as queen."

"A dangerous madman am I?" Alistair said. "That's a new one."

"Were they _present _at the Landsmeet?" Miranda said angrily. "Loghain died through trial by combat. Alistair was perfectly within his rights to behead that murdering traitor."

Alistair felt a warmth in his middle at his wife's words. He'd always suspected he might have gone a little too far on that day - but he'd been so full of rage at the man who had ripped away his life that he hadn't stopped to think before swinging his sword in the arc that killed him.

"You'll give the names of these Banns to Zevran?" Alistair asked.

"I took the liberty of giving him a written copy of my report, your majesty," Leliana said. He grinned.

"You're a treasure, Leliana," he said. "That reminds me - Zevran will be absent from the palace for a while - he and I would like you to take over his duties with regards to the Queen."

The bard's face lit up with genuine pleasure. "How lovely!" Miranda matched her smile.

"I have plans for some merchants of Orlais to visit," the Queen said. "Zevran has a good eye, but he's not nearly as discerning when it comes to certain items..."

"Thats... not exactly what I meant..." Alistair said, envisioning his treasury spilling away into the Drakon - the two women shared a passion for shoes that matched his own for cheese. "But certainly I would prefer you called merchants to the palace rather than ventured out into the streets. For a while any way."

Leliana clapped her hands in delight. "Please," Alistair said, "be a little restrained? We're still recovering from a blight, you know."

A month passed. The rumblings from Anora and her supporters continued, but no further challenges were made. She didn't have enough support to call for a Landsmeet and Alistair made an official proclaimation that nothing short of a Landsmeet would convince him to put aside his wife.

"Not _even _a landsmeet, would be a better choice of words," he said to Miranda.

Zevran traveled to Amaranthine. They received a single message informing them that he had made contact with the Dark Wolf, then nothing. Alistair was not worried - the man had his own way of working and could take care of himself. The only person who had ever managed to get the better of Zevran was now Alistair's wife.

Who was pregnant again.

It was astonishing to Alistair that it could have happened so quickly. But soon after Fergus's arrival Anders was giving Miranda her daily checkup and let out a whoop of excitement.

"Well, your majesties," Anders said. "When I said you could start trying again, I had no idea you would take up my advice so enthusiastically!"

They were in the Royal chambers, just having finished dressing. Miranda bit her lip and looked at Alistair with fear in her eyes. "Surely it's too soon?" she said. "Won't it be dangerous?"

Anders shook his head, still smiling. "Not at all, not at all," he said. "It's actually more common than you might think. Women are often at their most fertile directly after a loss... the body seems to... compensate..."

"Why do I get the impression you've been doing a _lot _of extra curricular study on this subject, Anders?" Miranda said, frowning.

He threw up his hands. "At your majesty's order, may I remind you. Rowan and I have done nothing else for the past four years...."

Alistair grinned - fear and hope twining in his belly and mixing with his recently consumed breakfast to make him feel quite ill.

"Speaking of Rowan, you'd better go and fetch him," Miranda said. "I'm assuming we'll need to start the treatments right away?"

Anders nodded and bowed briefly before leaving the room.

She turned to him and put her hands to her lips. He wasn't sure exactly what he should do.

"I'm not sure what to say," he said, falling back on honesty. "Are you all right?"

She nodded, still speechless. Then she shook her head and he saw her shoulders shaking. He leapt up and encircled her in his arms.

"I'm terrified," she said then, and although she wasn't crying she was trembling like a leaf. "Oh, Alistair... what if... "

He stroked her hair silently. He couldn't tell her it would be all right - not when he didn't know. "Rowan and Anders are both here," he said instead. "We know more this time than we have before. We can do this."

"But.."

He took her shoulders and pushed her back to look at her face. "Weren't you the one who told me you were strong enough?" he said gently. She nodded and took a deep breath. The shaking stopped. He sighed in relief and brushed a strand of hair from her eyes.

"We don't tell anyone," she said then, some of the old command back in her voice. "If Anora really is trying to stop the succession..."

"We need Zevran back," Alistair said. She nodded, then.

"I'll send a message to Sigrun at the Vigil. My guess is he's staying with the wardens - or has at least stopped in there."

"Maybe you should call Nathaniel here as well," he said.

She pursed her lips. "The High Commander might object to me using the wardens as my own personal bodyguards," she said.

"Ridiculous," Alistair said, stroking her cheek. "In any case, there's no reason he has to know."

She smiled a little. "True."

There was a knock at the door. He didn't really want to surrender her to the mages ministrations. Her cheek felt so soft under his hand, and part of him wanted to enclose her in his embrace and keep her that way for the next nine months.

The procedure was a complex one that would take an hour of her time a day as the mages contained the taint in the blood and stopped it from passing to the babe. There was nothing unpleasant about it, but it did require she stay still and Alistair had only remained for one of the treatments during the last pregnancy.

This time she took his hand firmly. "Stay?" she said.

He nodded.


	5. Chapter 5

_A bit of a homage to Terry Pratchett in this chapter. I love that man. Anyone who hasn't read his books, go and do it. You are excused from reading and commenting on my fanfics until you have read all of them. Shoo. Go now._

Fergus and Maeve's wedding was scheduled and planned. Bann Gerald's daughter was a slender redhead with a fiery temper. Alistair remembered that Miranda had described her as "lovely" and wondered why she'd picked the word. The woman was beautiful - yes, but lovely to Alistair suggested some softness of personality - ease and affability as well as attractiveness, and Maeve, whilst intelligent and not afraid of lively conversation, was not by any stretch of the imagination an easy person. She took such forceful control of the wedding arrangements that Miranda's mistress of ceremonies, Lady Dahlia, ended up refusing to work directly with her.

When he saw her with Fergus, however, he modified his opinion somewhat. The two were obviously deeply in love and he was happy for his brother-in-law. It had taken him a long time to get over the loss of his first wife Oriana and their son Orren, despite the fact that his first marriage had been arranged. There was no doubt, either, that Maeve would make an excellent Teryna.

The day of the wedding dawned. Miranda was nearly two months along in her pregnancy and Anders and Rowan both said there was no sign of the taint in the babe. They were still on edge, however, as there had been no sign of taint in the previous pregnancy until a week before Miranda's miscarriage. Anders seemed to think that if the babe survived past the third month it would reach term - he said that the internal organs were mostly developed by then and would be able to cope even if the taint was passed on to it.

"We'll try to avoid that, of course," he said. "The treatments will have to continue."

_One more month_, Alistiar found himself thinking, over and over. _One more month and we can breathe a little easier. _

The strain was beginning to tell on them both - keeping the pregnancy quiet despite Miranda's frequent nausea. There was still no word from Zevran, although Sigrun had sent a message back saying that yes, he had indeed been at the Vigil for a month but had moved on without telling her where he was going.

Today, however, was a day of celebration. Alistair was helping Miranda into a specially made gown for the wedding - nothing as elaborate as Maeve's wedding gown or her own, but still sumptuous. He had insisted she didn't need a lady's maid and Miranda liked that he enjoyed helping her dress.

"I'd just as soon be wearing my drakeskin," she said as he laced her bodice.

"Mmm," he said, a sudden image of Miranda in her old armour coming upon him. "I haven't seen you in that for a long time.."

"I'm not entirely sure it would fit me at the moment," she said, shifting uncomfortably under his fingers. "The bodice on this is too tight, and I was only measured for it a month ago..."

"Too tight?" he said stepping back and admiring the way the curve of her breasts showed over the neckline. He traced a finger along her collarbone, suddenly wishing they were _undressing _rather than dressing. Her breath hitched at his touch and she leaned towards him."I would have said just right, personally."

She smiled warmly, then blanched. "Blast it," she said, clutching at her stomach.

He was familiar with this and spun to grab a nearby bucket they had placed for just this eventuality.

"No, no," she said. "It's all right. Just a twinge."

"Can Anders give you a spell or something before the ceremony?" he said, still holding the bucket. "I think the nobility will be a little bit suspicious if the Queen throws up on the bride."

"I should be all right. I haven't actually thrown up for a couple of days..."

"Great, you've been saving it up..."

She laughed. "I don't think it works that way my love. But yes, I will ask Anders if there's anything he can do. I don't want Fergus and Maeve's day to be ruined."

He put down the bucket and turned her around to check his handiwork. She was perfect. The dress was grey silk that shimmered silver in the light from the windows, matching the grey of her eyes, and her long dark hair fell in curls down her back, caught back by the simple, gold circlet that was her crown. Diamonds glinted in the band - he had had it made to match the ring that she wore on her left hand. He gathered her hair in his hands and let it fall through, admiring its length and softness. On the road she had had it cut short, just past her jawline and although he never thought then that she could possibly be more beautiful, he was forever grateful he had the opportunity to see her like this.

"It's time like these I wish I had a way with words," he said, touching his cheek to hers and looking at them both in the full length mirror. "I'd say something that didn't sound incredibly corny and you'd melt."

She smiled and turned back to him, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair. "You don't need to say anything to make me do that," she said. "My warden."

He remembered the first time she had called him that - back before they'd first kissed, when she'd been wounded on the road. He'd been so afraid she was badly hurt he'd nearly not heard her. But he remembered the flush of heat to his cheeks when Leliana had commented on it.

"Why do you think she calls you _her _warden?" the bard had said, in one of the most awkward conversations he'd ever had. "Don't you think any of us would do anything to have her say that to us? Even Sten is besotted by her. But it's what she calls _you. _Tell her how you feel. I guarantee you she feels the same way."

"I.. can't. I don't know how...."

"Miranda, I think you're beautiful and I want to kiss you. There. Easy. Go do it or I'll do it first."

"What if she...?"

Miranda had come upon them then and he'd never been more embarrassed. He'd found out later she thought he was flirting with Leliana.

_So close, _he thought. _So close to never being here. Like this. _

"What do you think would have happened," he said then, "if we had never gotten together?"

"Mmmm.." she said thoughtfully. "I would have spared Loghain, made him a grey warden and you would have left me to become a wandering drunk."

He snorted. "Me? A drunk?"

"Well, it wouldn't cost you much..." he tickled her and she gasped. "Or... maybe you would have become king without me. Married Anora."

He shuddered. "Ouch."

"Or we both could have remained wardens and wandered Ferelden together as friends, fighting darkspawn... rescuing maidens..."

"Mmm. Can't picture it."

"Why not?"

"I would have ravished you eventually."

"_You_ would have ravished _me? _With all those maidens..."

He wrapped his arms around her. "There would be no comparison."

She laughed and let him kiss her. "I never would have let you get away, you know," she said then. "I had my eye on you from the first moment I saw you at Ostagar."

He kissed her again, lips brushing hers softly, then more firmly as she returned his embrace. He felt himself beginning to respond in ways that were not compatible with a public appearance and pulled away. She let out a little sigh.

"We're going to be late," he said. "You'd best find Anders."

The wedding was sumptuous. Despite Dahlia's refusal to take part in the final preparations, the banqueting hall was beautifully decorated, and the traditional Ferelden ceremony (heavy on Chantry teachings) was less unbearable than usual.

The feast afterwards was something of a trial for Miranda - although Anders had worked a little magic he warned her it was dangerous to the child to do anything that would help douse her nausea completely, and the food smells had her looking a little green and pale.

Speeches were given, wine was drunk. The happy couple retired early and left the rest of Ferelden's nobility to get roaring drunk and do embarrassing things to each other. Miranda left shortly after Fergus and Maeve, claiming tiredness. It would have been bad form for Alistair to leave with her.

At about the point where raucous songs were being sung (Oghren had started one about a hedgehog which was quite instructive) Alistair felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around to find Zevran.

"Sweet holy maker," he said. A little tipsy himself, it took him a moment to realise Zevran must have come directly from the road - he was covered in dust and looked haggard and weary.

"I have news, your majesty," the elf said. Alistair scanned the room quickly to see if he would be missed. Oghren was standing on a table, demonstrating actions to his song and the crowd was enraptured - there was no better time for him to slip away.

They made their way to the throne room, which was deserted. Alistair was sobering quickly. The elf had an extremely serious expression on his face and whatever news he brought he was certain it wouldn't be good.

"My friend," Zevran said when he was certain they were alone. "Anora is dead."


	6. Chapter 6

It was important enough to call Anders, Leliana, Rowan, Nathaniel and wake his wife. They all sat in the royal chambers - Miranda still in her nightclothes.

Zevran had had time to change clothes and eat a hasty meal while Alistair gathered the others.

"No one else is to know this information," Alistair warned them. "If it gets out that Anora is dead our enemies will know we are a step ahead of them. We mustn't let that happen."

"She wasn't the one to bring the petition?" asked Miranda.

"She may well have been," Zevran said. "But by my information, it was one of the last things she did."

"Who killed her?" Nathaniel asked. "And why haven't we heard about it?"

"As for who killed her - it was definitely a magical attack. That much is clear. But as to who ordered it? We are uncertain."

"We?" Alistair said.

"I have done as you asked. I contacted the Dark Wolf -" Zevran nodded at Miranda "he remembers you well, your majesty - and he agreed to help me set up a spy network for you. We are still in the process of recruiting and placing agents, but because of your concerns we placed our first agent at Gweran Castle. Anora was already dead when he got there."

"How are they maintaining the pretense that she's alive?" Miranda asked.

"They have another woman masquerading as her," Zevran said. "Almost certainly a shapeshifter."

Alistair glanced at Miranda and cocked an eyebrow, but she shook her head. "There's no way Morrigan would move against us," she said. He had to agree. Despite his ambivalence towards the apostate mage she had proven herself a true friend. _And she'd be dealing with a toddler at the moment... hardly the best time to start plotting against the throne. _The thought of Morrigan as a mother was such an incongruous image that he couldn't help but snort a little.

"That sort of magic is only practiced openly in the Tevinter Imperium," Anders said.

Zevran nodded. "We have not ruled out the Imperium as the source of this threat," he said.

"If Anora is dead," Nathaniel said, "can we be sure that the goal of this is to destroy all chance of a clean succession in Ferelden?"

Alistair looked at Miranda. She had both hands clutched over her stomach, unconsciously he was certain. He was suddenly seized with fear for her and their child.

"Rowan," he said. "I want Miranda taken to the tower for protection."

Miranda's head snapped up. "What?" she said.

"You heard me. There are mages involved in this. I won't feel happy until you're surrounded by templars _and _mages."

"I already have all the templars _I _need," she said sharply. "And we can call more mages from the tower if you're that worried."

"This is not open for discussion, Miranda."

"Given our experiences at the tower, I can hardly believe you think it's the safest place for me and our child," she protested.

Leliana, Zevran and Nathaniel all snapped their heads towards the queen.

"Abominations you can deal with," Alistair said. "You've proved that quite well. And as I said, this isn't open for discussion."

"Alistair!"

He stood up. "Enough! I will accompany you there, but I can't stay. We have to get to the bottom of this, my love, and I won't have you in danger while it's being sorted out. You _will _go to the tower."

She glared at him. He knew he hadn't heard the end of it, but she would probably try other ways of convincing him when the others had left. He could deal with them. They'd never hit a point where he wasn't willing to concede to her yet - she was usually right, but in this case he was not going to compromise. His hands were shaking at the thought that she might be in danger and he clasped them behind his back and paced the room so no one else noticed.

"Zevran, you have no idea who is behind this?"

"No, your majesty," the elf replied. "We have some leads that are being followed as we speak. I doubt very much that the mastermind behind this is from Ferelden, however. It is too... subtle for your people."

"How did you find out that the Anora at Gwaren wasn't the real Anora?" Rowan asked then. "Do you have mages in your network?"

Zevran cocked an eyebrow at Wynne's son. He was in his late thirties and as softly spoken as his mother had been. "I think it would be better if the tower didn't know, my good mage," he said. "Much as I.. respected your mother I would ask that you not pry further. The network will only be effective as long as it remains anonymous."

The mage pursed his lips thoughtfully, but nodded.

"We'll leave for the tower the day after tomorrow," Alistair said. "I'll leave security preparations to you, Zevran. Leliana - I want you to stay here until my return - we're going to have to convince Fergus and his lady that returning to Highever isn't advisable at present, and they'll need extra protection in the palace." He was pacing back and forth as he spoke, mentally ticking off all of the things he needed done before their departure. The others stood and bowed briefly, before leaving. Anders, however, lingered.

"I suppose you'll be wanting me to accompany you to the tower.." he said hesitantly. Alistair stopped and looked at the mage critically.

"We need you," he said simply. "You're the only warden mage we have available at the moment."

The former apostate gave a deep sigh. "They won't be happy to see me," he said.

"I'm sorry," Alistair said.

"It's all right," Anders said. "I suppose I'll get used to the idea. You won't let them lock me up again, will you Commander?" he turned to Miranda.

She snorted. "I'm not letting them lock either of us up, Anders," she said. He grinned at her. Alistair walked to the door and pointedly held it open for the blonde mage.

He shut the door after him and leaned on it, turning to look at his wife.

She was staring at him with a determined expression. "You're not going to do this to me," she said.

"I am."

"I hate you."

"I know."

"I told you the whole reason I gave up being Warden Commander was so I could stay with you, and at the first sign of danger you pack me up like a...a... _doll_ and lock me in a phallic symbol full of religious nutcases and people who can kill me with their brains?"

"You sound like Morrigan. The tower isn't that bad."

"You never served in the tower. I've heard stories about it from Anders."

"It's a lot more relaxed there now. I passed laws about it, remember? And Wynne never complained about it the way Anders does."

"I'm not like Wynne."

"Are you saying you _are _like Anders? No wonder the man irritates me so much..."

"Don't try to deflect this one with humour, Alistair."

He sighed and knelt in front of her taking one hand in his and placing the other one gently on her stomach. "At the tower you'll be under Rowan's care - and he'll have other mages on hand to ask for advice. Anders will be there, albeit reluctantly. Gregoir and the other templars will be able to stop a magical attack. These people killed Anora in her home Terynir, my love, and I _know _she was surrounded by security - I should, I checked it. The palace is no more secure than Gweran was. I can't have you at risk."

"I said I didn't want to leave you again, Alistair. I meant it. I don't want to leave you again _ever._"

He couldn't stop himself from leaning forward and kissing her deeply at that. There was desperation in the kiss and she clasped her arms around his neck and pulled him towards her with all her considerable strength until he was hovering over her, his arms on the arms of the chair. Her tongue probed him almost violently and he felt himself respond with a flame of passion that was almost uncontrollable. He had to exert all his Templar training and physically pull himself away from her back to standing. She remained in the chair, although she was panting with need.

"Miranda, I _can't _have you in danger again," he said hoarsely.

"And how do you think _I _feel?" she said, her voice just as hoarse as his. "They're not just going to kill off the heirs, you know. You're in just as much danger as I am. You expect me to sit in the tower while you roam the country looking for people who want to kill you? I can't have _you _in danger."

They looked at each other, she crouched in the chair and he standing over her, both breathing as though they'd just come from battle.

"I'll stay in the tower," she said finally, more softly, although she was still breathing hard, "if you stay with me."

His breath exploded outwards. "Andraste's flaming sword! You're impossible!"

She arched an eyebrow. Damn she could look sexy when she was angry. "Why not? You aren't seriously considering following Zevran around Ferelden while he tracks down assassins? Don't you think people will notice that _you're the king?"_

He parted his hands helplessly. She was right. Maker damn her.

"I'll stay as long as I can," he said.

"You'll stay as long as I will," she replied, standing up and moving close to him.

"We'll talk about it..." he said as her face came within inches of his. Her hands reached up to his chest, moved over his torso, "after we get there..." down behind him, past the waistband if his breeches, lightly touching, discovering, setting fires of sensation everywhere they rested.

"Maker..." he breathed.

"Do you really...." she said moving her hands to the front of him and enclosing him... "want to leave me there...?" tugging his clothing down so he sprang free. He groaned as she knelt in front of him.

"This is not a really a negotiation technique.." he said between gasps. "Sweet Andraste, woman..." She didn't reply. Her mouth was otherwise occupied.


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning she was less angry with him. He'd managed (Maker knew how) not to promise to stay with her the entire time she was in the tower, but he had a feeling she had more up her sleeves as far as persuasive techniques were concerned that she hadn't tried yet. Remembering parts of last night, he couldn't help but wish she would.

They packed and arranged. He had been meaning to visit the tower for some time, to check how well the mages and templars were adapting to their new arrangements. The changes at the tower were gradual - the Chantry were still angry with him for interfering at all in their tight control over mages - but since his coronation he had managed to modify the templar presence at the tower. The mages had more freedom to come and go, parents were allowed to visit their children and it was a lot more difficult to make a mage tranquil.

He wasn't entirely satisfied, however. And he had come up against a surprising amount of resistance from the mages themselves. Leliana had offered some insight into it for him one evening. "When you live in a cage - if the cage is comfortable, why leave?"

Miranda spoke with Fergus and convinced him to stay in Denerim with the expedient excuse of appointing him Alistair's regent. Eamon usually filled that role, but with Isolde's illness he was finding it more and more difficult to leave Redcliffe. Fergus was pleased and flattered to be asked, and Maeve's eyes flashed with satisfaction.

The day passed swiftly without much time for either of them to speak. When finally they were alone together Miranda didn't allow him to enter into conversation about their trip, instead taking full advantage of their last night of privacy for what could be a very long time.

Being on the road as King and Queen was a very different experience to being on the road as grey wardens. They had a carriage. Their tents were actually pavilions in which it was actually possible to stand up somewhere other than exactly in the middle. Other people cooked for them (he was a little sad about that - no one else knew how to make a proper pea and lamb stew) and they were surrounded by guards.

But there was enough about it that was similar to make Alistair nostalgic.

About a week into the journey he woke in the middle of the night and, leaving Miranda sleeping, slipped outside to relieve himself. It was a clear, spring night with a hint of the brief warmth that summer would bring to Ferelden and he drank in the view of the stars in the quietness of the camp. Armoured figures stood here and there on vigilant watch, reminding him of Sten in their silence and their stiffness.

When he had finished his business he wandered to the campfire, which had burned down to ashes, and sat, unwilling to go to sleep again on such a beautiful night.

There was a whisper of fabric behind him and he turned to see Miranda, in her long nightgown and traveling cloak.

"Can't sleep?" she asked.

He smiled at her, but shook his head. "Just admiring the night. I'll be back in a moment."

She didn't turn to go but instead took the place next to him on the log, leaning her head on his shoulder. He adjusted to put his arm around her and hold her close, breathing in the scent of her hair. "Why are you up?"

"I woke up and you weren't there," she said. "I thought perhaps you'd decided to sneak away before we got to the tower."

"I'm surprised you're not fully armed and armoured," he said. "If you were coming to track me down.."

She laughed softly, and reached into her cloak to bring out a dagger. It lay flat on her palm and glinted in the moonlight. "I would only have needed this," she said, smiling up at him.

He shook his head in wonderment. "Ritual dismemberment?" he said, then realised what he'd said and blanched. "Noo, wait, it's not Tuesday, is it?"

She slipped the dagger back into her cloak, still smiling.

"I meant what I said about not wanting you to leave me, Alistair," she said then. "I'll find a way to follow you if you do."

"Templars are very, very good at stopping people from leaving the Tower, my love."

"I'm very, very good at escaping."

He remembered, then. Fort Drakon. He hadn't thought of it in years. His anguish as she was chained to the table to be violated in front of him. The blood on his hands from bashing at the rusty bars of his cell. The feeling of utter helplessness and failure. And then, the miracle - as his love twisted out from under the monster who had her pinned, killed him with nothing but the chains that imprisoned her and freed _him_.

He had known, even before that, that he needed her. It wasn't until recently he realised that she needed him just as much - and in the same way.

He drew her closer and turned her to face him. "I said once that I would do anything to protect you," he said softly. "I meant it."

She didn't smile. "The one thing - the best thing that protects me is you," she said. "Please, don't take that away from me. Stay."

He kissed her.

They would be on the road for another week. Anders and Rowan managed to treat Miranda without arousing too much suspicion and she seemed to take to the trip well. She didn't mention him staying at the tower again - and he spent a good deal of time thinking of ways he could get around her demand. It didn't help that part of him desperately wanted to give in to her wishes. He knew how badly he would react to being locked up and he ached for her. But however capable Miranda was, she was not on her own any more, and he wouldn't put them both at risk, no more than was absolutely necessary.

The attack came when they were only two days out from the Tower. Alistair had been expecting it, to be honest. There was a reason he insisted that the two of them wear armour and were surrounded by a full contingent of Templars.

At first glance it could have been bandits, but they were too well equipped. Anders and Rowan quickly dispatched the dozen archers surrounding them, however and the templars made quick work of the equal number of swordsmen. Alistair and Miranda remained, safe in the carriage, or so he thought.

When the last swordsman fell and Zevran assured him there were no more, he left Miranda in the carriage and alighted to inspect the bodies.

"No markings," Zevran said, accompanying him. "These are mercenaries - hired killers."

"Not crows?"

Zevran shook his head. "No, my friend. Although it's possible the crows hired them. My former brothers did not always deign to do their own work if they think others would be better able to take the risk."

"But these weren't better able," Alistair said then, kneeling by one of the corpses. He frowned. "We dispatched them so easily..."

Zevran drew in a breath just as Alistair leapt to his feet again and the two men started running back towards the carriage.

His templar senses tingled. Someone was casting offensive magic. They were within sight of the carriage now and he could see the templars surrounding it were still, frozen, with bands of light around them - mass paralysis. A powerful mage. He gathered his stamina as he ran, readying cleanse, and released it as soon as he was in range. The Templars began moving again, but it was late... too late... a figure was reaching the door of the carriage.

Alistair roared and put on a final, desperate burst of speed, slamming into the slender figure before it could get into the carriage, barreling them both into the ground with stunning force. He hadn't even had time to draw his sword, instead he clawed for the attackers throat with his gauntleted fists. The figure was quick, however, and rocked out of his grasp, scrambling backwards and gaining its feet with remarkable agility that failed it suddenly as it came up against the door of the carriage. Alistair had time to get to his own feet, then, and drew his sword this time, advancing on the figure and swinging Maric's blade straight for its throat. There was a clash as his opponent managed to draw a blade and block his swing in one movement. They were close, then, face to face, and he had time to realise his opponent was a woman before he felt a piercing pain under his left arm. Her other hand had managed to draw a dagger and slide it in between the plates of his armour. He dismissed it for a moment - the pain was swallowed in his fury at Miranda's danger, but his sword was suddenly too heavy and his head spun.

"Alistair!" he heard his wife's voice - saw her behind his opponent, her capable hands grasping the woman's jaw and flipping violently to snap her neck in one efficient movement before clambering over her to catch him as he fell, the combined weight of his body and armour bearing them to the ground. His head was in her lap, then, and she was pulling his helm from him and fumbling with the straps of his armour.

"Really, my love," he tried to say. "This is hardly the time..." but his tongue was too thick and he couldn't form the words. He had a moment to think how beautiful she looked, with the sun shining on her hair and tears glistening in her eyes, before he sank into blackness.


	8. Chapter 8

"Rowan, get here right now!" she yelled, stroking Alistair's hair with one hand, pressing her other hand to the wound under his arm. It wasn't deep and it had taken her a moment to realise the blade was poisoned. His symptoms were such that she knew exactly which poison had been used. There was still a mage out there somewhere and Zevran was barking orders to the templars who were scattering and reforming. A tight circle had positioned itself around her and Alistair and she couldn't see past them - it was intensely frustrating.

Anders and Rowan pushed their way past the templars to Alistair's side. Both mages dropped to their knees.

"The blade was poisoned," she hissed at them. "It's a crow poison - I've used it before. It works quickly. You have to _do _something!"

Anders was the first to act, casting force field on the king, effectively freezing him and any effects the poison might have on him for a short time. "We need to get him to the circle as soon as possible," Rowan said.

"Can you keep him like this until we get there?" Miranda asked then. "I thought this spell took a lot of mana..."

Anders looked at Rowan with a frown. "If we alternate who casts it," he said. "We can keep it going for a day. No more."

She hissed through her teeth. A day wasn't long enough. The crow poison would kill him in under an hour and they were two days from the circle.

"Is there an antidote?" Anders asked.

Her mind raced. "Zevran!" she called. "Zevran I need you here now."

The former crow was at their side in seconds. "My lady," he said.

She looked up into his eyes. "He's been poisoned. You know with what. We need the antidote."

Zevran's eyes clouded. "It's been a long time," he said. "It may not be strong enough in my blood any longer."

She nearly screamed at him. "It will have to do!" she said. "We haven't time!"

Zevran nodded, and knelt next to the king. "When will this spell wear off?" he said to the mages. Anders shrugged.

"Whenever you need it to," he said.

The elf nodded sharply. "Now," he said, and drew his dagger. Anders flexed his fingers and the forcefield disappeared from around the king. Immediately the effects of the poison could be seen - the green tinge to his lips, the sheen of sweat across his brow, the convulsions. Zevran held his left wrist above the king and made a short, deep cut in the vein with his dagger, pressing the wound to Alistair's mouth. The king swallowed weakly as the red liquid flowed. Zevran did not wince, simply sat holding his wrist for a few minutes, watching with clinical interest as the king drank his blood.

"Enough," he said finally, pulling his wrist away. Anders had winced when the dagger cut, but Miranda was pleased to note the mage had not wasted time and immediately moved to Zevran with a healing spell and some bandages. Rowan gently moved Miranda to the other side of the king so he could clean and bandage the wound under his arm.

Alistair's breathing was shallow and uneven and his mouth, stained red from Zevran's blood, was slack. She sat with her hand still buried in his hair and waited.. waited. "Don't you dare leave me," she whispered. "Don't you _dare."_

"What was that all about," Rowan asked finally, as he finished tending the cut under Alistair's arm.

The elf, who looked a little pale, snorted. "I was a wanted man by the crows for a long time," he said. "It was well within my interests to be immune to their poisons."

"You made yourself immune?"

"I ingested large quantities of many antidotes, yes. They were designed to last for a long time, in case I was captured and... held for longer than usual. If we are lucky, they are still present in my blood - enough to help the king."

Anders finished with Zevran - who got to his feet and went to see how the templars were getting on - and moved closer to the king. Rowan looked up and nodded at the younger mage, who held both hands over the king's stomach and closed his eyes. "Anders is better at reading the state of the body's internals," Rowan explained to Miranda. "He'll be able to tell us if it's working."

She nodded but didn't trust herself to speak. She couldn't tell - was his breathing shallower? She put her other hand on his neck, felt the fluttering of his pulse - it was too fast, much too fast. Tears leaked out from the corners of her eyes. She'd been holding them in but seeing him like this was too much. Her shoulders began to shake with the effort of holding herself together.

Anders was still and his face composed as he moved his hands. Eventually - it seemed like a hundred years later - he opened his eyes and looked at her.

"He'll live," he said. She let out a breath that was really a sob, dreadful relief flooding her.

Anders' face fell and he moved forward, jerking his arms as though to take her in them. "Commander.. he's still very ill. We need to get him to the tower."

She nodded through her tears. "Help me get him into the carriage."

They moved the king to the carriage, laying him on one seat. Miranda sat with his head in her lap. Her fingers moved on his face, in his hair. The sweating had stopped and his breathing was deeper, but his skin was hot and his eyes under closed lids were moving rapidly. Anders sat across from her in case there was any need for his services. Tears were still leaking from her - she didn't know how to stop them.

They waited for Zevran.

It was nearly an hour later when he returned to tell them they had found the mage. He had been unable to stop the templars from killing her, however. She wore regular mage robes and had nothing on her that could identify where she was from. Nor could they identify the body of the rogue who had stabbed Alistair.

"I've arranged to have the bodies brought with us," Zevran said. "In case there is anything the tower mages can tell us that I'm unable to see."

She nodded. "Good," she said, amazed that her voice came out steady. "Then we can get going. We won't be stopping tonight, Zevran, for longer than is absolutely necessary. Let everybody know."

The assassin nodded. His eyes met hers for a moment and she was grateful for the compassion that shone there.

"Thank you, Zev," she said.

He flashed a grin for her then disappeared.

They moved as quickly as possible. She reasoned it would be possible to get to the tower in less than two days if they rested only enough for the horses to regain their wind. She felt bad for the beasts but Alistair's condition burned any consideration for others out of her. She would get him to the tower and he would live.

Once they were underway and her tears had stopped, she looked up and fixed Anders with a stare. "Tell me," she said.

He looked desperately uncomfortable. "Commander, he's not in any danger of dying at the moment. But the antidote that Zevran supplied isn't enough to purge the poison from his system."

"Would it be better if you used magic?"

"No," Rowan answered instead. "To be honest, your majesty, his only chance now is for his own body to purge the toxin from him. And the only thing that will do that is time."

"But there's a chance it won't be able to?"

Anders sighed deeply. "There's a chance. But he is young, and he's healthy - in peak physical condition. I'm optimistic."

She nodded, and bowed her head over Alistair's again. It wasn't long before Rowan and Anders moved to the roof of the carriage, leaving her alone.

His eyelids fluttered every now and then. She found she couldn't tear her eyes away from his face, as though she needed to memorise every detail. "Please," she whispered to him. "Maker, Alistair, don't leave me."

She slept, for a time, her head resting against the door of the carriage, worn out from emotional upheaval. When she woke Alistair's condition was unchanged and it was dark.

She fed him water from a wet cloth as they traveled, wiped his face which was too hot, cradled him like a child in her arms. Her tears had dried and did not return, she was entirely focused on him.

Rowan and Anders had to gently force her to leave him for a time so they could treat her once the carriages had stopped. She made Zevran stay with Alistair. She couldn't bare to think he might be on his own. Anders examined him every couple of hours and pronounced no change - which was good news, he said. If the poison wasn't progressing then Alistair's body was fighting it off. The longer he remained stable the more likely it was that he would recover.

When they reached the tower she was stiff, sore and exhausted. Two templars carried the unconscious Alistair to the boat and she rode with him across the lake. It was late afternoon and the sun was directly behind the tower, flooding the lake with red and gold light the same colour as Alistair's hair. She had one of his hands in hers and she wasn't going to give it up.

Gregoir met them in the tower lobby. He saw the two templars and Miranda with Alistair and immediately started barking orders. Miranda walked with him as they made their way to the guest quarters on the second floor.

"What happened?" he asked her.

"We were attacked on the road. It's a long story, Knight Commander. Zevran will fill you in on the details."

When Alistair was settled in a bed with Rowan checking him, Zevran entered holding a tray full of food. Miranda was slumped in an armchair next to Alistair's bed feeling numb.

"I've spoken with Gregoir," Zevran said softly as he placed the tray on the small table near the door. "He's agreed that the two of you can stay in the tower for as long as necessary. He's also dispatched messengers to the regent informing him of the situation."

She nodded.

"Miranda," Zevran very rarely used her name and she looked up at him. "You need to eat something. For the child if nothing else."

She blinked. Zevran looked pale under his tattoo - she realised he'd been running ragged the past two days - filling in for both herself and Alistair, taking charge. She stood unsteadily and joined him at the table. There was soup and bread and cheese and apples and she suddenly realised she was ravenous.

Zevran joined her and they ate silently.

When they finished she sighed and sat back in her chair. "Thank you, Zev," she said. "We wouldn't have made it here without you." The elf frowned and pressed his lips together. "What is it?" she asked him.

He shook his head. "I failed you," he said. "I was complacent. It was Alistair who realised there would be more than just the first wave, not I. I should have known."

"Zevran, there was no way you could have..."

"Do not try to convince me otherwise," he said harshly. "I was a crow. They are not a simple organisation. They do not attack with numbers alone. I am a fool."

She studied him. The weeks in Amaranthine and goodness knows where else and worn him down so he was as thin as he had been when she first met him - no spare flesh at all. There were deep, dark circles under his blue eyes and lines had started to appear around his mouth. They had pushed him, and pushed him, never thinking he might not be able to cope with the pressure.

"Zev, I'm sorry," she said, reaching out and putting her hand over his. "We asked too much of you."

He shook his head. "No my lady," he said. "You can never ask too much of me." He got to his feet and sketched a graceful bow. "I should sleep," he said. "As should you."

She watched him leave, a strange ache in her heart that had nothing to do with her husband's condition.

Rowan put his hand on her shoulder and gently urged her to her feet. "You can sleep here," he said. "I won't need to see him again until the morning."

She nodded and squeezed his arm. Rowan left and she managed to undress herself and slide into the bed next to Alistair. He was warm, and he was breathing, and as she put her arm across his chest she could almost convince herself he was simply asleep.

Almost.


	9. Chapter 9

_Alistair sat by the fire, occasionally stirring the stew in front of him, watching her, but trying not to, as she sparred with Zevran._

_They were both dressed in armour - both wielding a sword and a dagger. They were of a height - if it wasn't for the elf's light hair he might have had difficulty telling them apart._

_Save that she moved like _so_ and he like _that_ and only _she_ could make him feel the deep tingling in the pit of his stomach that was present there at the moment. _

_It was a cold night, but for some reason he felt hot. His limbs were heavy. The armour he wore felt wrong - it was templar armour - where was the golden armour of Cailan's?_

_Why was he camping without guards?_

_.........The cold water hit him like the flat of a sword and he nearly gasped a lungful of it in shock before breaking the surface to see her, grinning at him, treading water like some sort of fish-spirit. Her wet hair hung in dark trails down her face, emphasising the sharp line of her jaw. She laughed and struck out in long, graceful strokes to the edge of the water. He needed to move, to get the warmth back into his limbs, but he stayed there, watching, as she clambered out of the water, his eyes drinking in the way the wet cloth clung to her waist and hips, leaving very little to his overactive imagination, but just enough for him to be gasping with more than the cold as it filled in the details....._

_........Alistair sat with his arms wrapped around his dirty knees, trying to keep the warmth in his bones. He had no idea how long he had been in the cage. It was dark in the cellars - not even a slit of a window to let him know what time it was. He was stubborn enough to tell himself he didn't care that they hadn't noticed he was gone. He thought of Isolde's face and grimaced, pretending that tears weren't leaking from the corners of his eyes, pretending that he didn't care Eamon hadn't stood up for him._

_A soft noise in the darkness snapped his head up and he saw a figure in the darkness - small and slender - a girl. "Hello?" he said._

_A tiny hand gripped one of the bars in front of him and he was confronted with a pair of piercing grey eyes. They were set in the face of a little girl - no more than six - her dark hair caught in pigtails, her expression solemn._

_She wavered. Became a woman, smiling, as he leaned in to kiss her, holding his breath, terrified she would pull away, change her mind... realise he wasn't worthy..._

_Wavered again. Became the jaws of a dragon crushing down on his midsection, piercing holes in his armour and penetrating his skin. He opened his mouth to scream..._

_The dragon vanished and there was a black haired woman beneath him, her eyes shut tight as he thrust inside her, expression grim and determined. He felt pleasure, but it was contained tight in his groin and reached nowhere else as he powered to release...._

_...he was wrapped in the tentacle of the broodmother, hacking at it with his sword, cursing..._

_It became his sister, standing in a hovel in Denerim, ridiculing him and rejecting him..._

_She became a young Cailan, grinning as he ran away without a word, and Alistair lifted his face to look into the face of his father...._

_Who became a rotting corpse hitched to a cross in the middle of a bridge at Ostagar....._

_Duncan, handing him the cup of joining, grim faced, but gentle..._

_Miranda, underneath him, flushed and beautiful, crying out as she reached her climax...._

_Miranda, crying..._

_......Alistair sat in his room at the chantry, alone and angry and afraid and confined. He opened his mouth and screamed, and the scream went on for hours and hours and hours...._

_No one came._

She woke to a noise from next to her. Alistair's head was thrashing from side to side and his body jerked upwards in an arch. She scrambled out of the bed and ran to the door, flinging it open and calling to the templars she knew were stationed there.

By the time Anders got to her she'd managed to pull on a shirt and some breeches. Alistair was still thrashing and moaning, his body was awash in sweat. The mage ran to his side, his hands already glowing green with magical energy.

Alistair calmed at Anders' first touch and let out a great sigh. Miranda realised she was biting her fist in tension, hard enough to draw blood. The former apostate's eyes were closed as he read the state of the king's body.

Anders went rigid for a moment and Miranda took two steps towards them, before both he and Alistair let out another long breath. Anders sank to the chair beside the bed and Alistair...

Alistair's eyes opened and he turned his head to face her. "Maker's breath my love," he whispered hoarsely. "What's going on?"


	10. Chapter 10

"I never thought you'd resort to poisoning me to keep me at the tower," Alistair said as he sipped a cup of tea.

He was pale and his hands trembled, but he was awake. Miranda sat next to him on the bed, cradling her own hot cup. She had barely stopped smiling since he first opened his eyes.

"I told you I'd find a way," she said. "You're stuck here for at least a month now."

"I don't see how it could possibly take that long to recover from a small stab wound," he protested weakly. "Even if it was poisoned." He grimaced. "Did I really drink Zevran's blood?" She nodded, still grinning. "Ewww." He handed her the mug of tea and rolled his tongue around his mouth.

"You've used up all your reserves," she said, reaching over to put the two mugs on the side table next to the bed.. "The poison saps stamina and suppresses your breathing and you didn't eat for three days. It's going to take at least a week for all the traces of poison to leave your body and a fair while after that before you'll be back to normal." He sighed. She shifted closer to him and stroked his hair. "It could even be _more _than a month. If we hadn't managed to kill those two assassins, I'd probably have to thank them."

He tutted and shook his head. His eyes were heavy lidded and she cupped his cheek in concern. "You need more sleep," she said to him. He blinked quickly and shuddered a little at her words.

"Oh, I don't think so," he said lightly. She cocked an eyebrow at him and he sighed. "Very well, your highness," he said. "But you'd better join me soon. I'll get cold and lonely without you."

She kissed his cheek. "I have a few things to do," she said. "But I'll be back."

He clasped her hand in his, suddenly, and tightly. "Make it quick," he said.

She nodded.

She needed to find Anders - it was time for her treatment and Rowan had said he didn't know where the warden mage was. She was a little annoyed with him, to be honest - for weeks now she had been forced to jump into the treatments at exactly the same time every day and today....

She searched the guest quarters but he was nowhere to be found. Mages slipped here and there around her, always quiet, always ineffably polite and respectful. Templars stood in most rooms, usually relaxed, but obviously vigilant.

She finally made her way to the mages storeroom. A red haired senior enchanter was sorting papers at a desk at its entrance. "Excuse me?" she said.

The woman looked up and smiled. "Your majesty?" she said.

"I'm looking for one of my companions... Anders? He's usually in the library but I can't seem to find him..."

She frowned. "He went into the storeroom a while ago - in need of lyrium, but I assumed he'd found what he needed and left."

"You assumed?"

"I haven't seen him - but I've been pretty busy here."

Miranda pursed her lips. "Do you mind if I check?" she said.

"Not at all your majesty."

She smiled. The mage waved vaguely in the direction of the open door and Miranda slipped inside.

The supply store was huge and not particularly well laid out. Shelves stood randomly here and there throughout what looked very like a network of caves. She moved silently through the tunnels. After a few moments she caught the edge of voices ahead. They were laughing.

She approached cautiously, suddenly aware that she was the Queen of Ferelden, wandering around without her bodyguard. Alistair would kill her. But if that was Anders up there, and he'd managed to find a stash of booze - or Maker forbid, a willing female mage - she was going to have extremely harsh words with him.

She reached out with her senses and sure enough, she could feel the taint that meant there was another warden ahead. Seeing as she, Alistair and Anders were the only ones in the tower she felt confident enough to stride forward calling his name.

"Anders, where in Andraste's name..."

She stopped as she beheld the scene in front of her.

Anders was curled in a heap on the floor, two templars standing over him. The templars looked up as she approached. She recognised neither of them - they were not from the Denerim contingent. Both were men - one a swarthy black haired man with dark eyes and a beard, the other a more slender blonde.

She went cold with fury. "I'll change my enquiry," she said. "What in Andraste's name do _you _think you're doing?"

Anders groaned and rolled to his back. The dark haired templar looked shocked and guilty. The blonde one, however, sneered. "He's an apostate," he said. "Little bastard got away from us too many times. We were teaching him a lesson."

"A lesson is it?" she said, her lip curling.

"Who are _you _any way?" the blonde Templar continued, looking her up and down with the beginnings of a leer on his face. "One of the King's women?"

She cocked her eyebrow. _One_ _of the King's women? Alistair will love that one._ They didn't recognise her. It wasn't really surprising. She was dressed in a plain shirt and breeches and not many had been present when they arrived. "Not exactly," she said.

"She's the Queen you nughumpers," Anders voice came from the floor, muffled and clouded with pain. "Former Commander of the Grey Wardens. Hero of Ferelden. And, I'm thinking if I'm lucky, supreme kicker of your arses."

Her lips twitched in a smile and folded her arms across her chest.

The two men stood up a little straighter and the blonde templar stepped back in sudden fear.

"Now," she said sweetly. "If the two of you would be so kind as to help my friend to his feet, I believe my _husband_ and the Knight Commander would very much like to have a word with you."

Anders chuckled. Then groaned.

The red haired mage at the desk stood up in alarm at the sight of the two templars holding Anders supported between them. "What's happened?" she said. "Did he hurt himself?"

"Not exactly," Miranda said primly. "If you would be so good as to fetch the Knight Commander here? It's rather important."

"Of course, your majesty!" the woman said and motioned to an apprentice nearby. It only took a couple of minutes before Greagoir arrived, and Miranda moved to Anders side, allowing him to rest his weight on her shoulder rather than be in contact with his aggressors.

Greagoir frowned when he saw Anders, and the frown deepened when he saw the two templars who held him.

"Timon. Brour. What is going on here?"

"I found these two attacking my personal physician in the store room, Knight Commander." Miranda said briskly. "I happened upon them."

Greagoir sighed heavily. He didn't question her - apparently he had no difficulty believing that these two templars would do such a thing. "Do you have anything to say for yourselves, men?" he said.

"Knight Commander.." the blonde templar, Timon stammered. "He's an apostate. He escaped from us seven times!"

"Which shows remarkable initiative and should probably be given some credit," Greagoir said. Anders seemed to find this incredibly funny. "As it is, he is no longer an apostate, but a grey warden, conscripted by the Queen herself three years ago in Amaranthine - am I correct, your majesty?"

"Quite, Knight Commander."

"As such, he is no longer under our jurisdiction. And your actions are completely unjustified in any case. We do not corner apostates in storerooms like twelve year old bullies. We bring them to justice."

The two templars hung their heads.

"Well?" Greagoir said after a pause. "Have you anything to say for yourselves?"

They were both mute.

"You will report to Cullen in the templar quarters," Greagoir said. "He will arrange to have you confined until the King and Queen decide on your punishment. I think it only fitting that you decide, your majesty, given that it is you who have been inconvenienced by this unpleasantness."

"_She's _been inconvenienced?" Anders muttered. Miranda shushed him.

"Thank you Greagoir. I think perhaps some time in honest repentance would help these men. Possibly under the guidance of a Revered Mother? I believe Mother Brenna in Redcliffe is extremely strict in that regard. She has quite a reputation."

"Excellent idea your majesty," Greagoir said. He turned to the two templars. "Well, go!" he said finally. They jumped and practically ran from the room.

"You have my sincerest apologies, your majesty," Greagoir said then, turning to Miranda.

"I would like your assurance that none of your other templars will bother Anders," she said then. "He is a warden now."

"You have it."

"Good," she said. "Now, if you'll excuse us?"

Anders leaned heavily on her as they left the storeroom. He fumbled in his robe and pulled out a lyrium potion, downing it in one gulp. "Lucky I managed to get this before they laid into me," he said. "Next time I'll send an apprentice to get them for me." He straightened somewhat as the lyrium took effect, bolstering his mana and allowing him to self heal.

"It's time for my treatment," she said to him as they walked.

"I know," he said. "That's why I was down there. I needed more lyrium for it. Bloody, sodding...." he winced... "big..... strong templars."

"How did they manage to attack you?" she asked.

"Templars have this handy thing where they drain your mana," he said to her.

"I know," she said. "I have this husband, you see.."

"Haha, very funny. Yes. Usually I'm better at avoiding them. But this time I wrongly supposed I wouldn't be a target. Given my royal patrons."

"I'm sorry Anders."

"Well, you did come to my rescue. Kind of like a white knight. Except whenever that scenario played out in my head it was _me_ rescuing _you._"

"Remember me mentioning that husband?"

"How could I forget?"

"I wouldn't let him know that you've been playing out scenes in your head about me. He can do more than just drain your mana."

Anders gave her a wicked grin. "Not at the moment he can't."

They reached Miranda and Alistair's room. Anders was standing on his own now, and he reached back into his robes for another lyrium potion.

"Should we delay the treatment?" she asked him.

"No," Anders said. "I wouldn't recommend it. And I'll be all right in a bit. I've been kicked in the head a few times before."

"Really," Miranda said dryly. "I can't imagine why."


	11. Chapter 11

Life in the circle was quiet and relaxing. On the second day after their arrival Zevran excused himself - right now he was the only agent Alistair and Miranda trusted to get to the bottom of both Anora's death and Alistair's poisoning. Although Miranda was concerned for him she couldn't afford not to let him go, but she did manage to illicit a promise that he would keep in touch more regularly than on his previous trips.

"If I can, my lady," he said to her at the doors to the Tower. "I will make every effort."

She kissed him on the cheek. "Please, make every effort to be alive when you come back as well," she said.

The elf grinned.

Alistair's condition improved slowly. The first week was spent in bed - much to his annoyance and Miranda's delight. She spent a lot of time trekking back and forth from the library, bringing him reading material which he devoured voraciously. She was a little surprised at how much he seemed to enjoy it.

"You're reminding me of Wynne," she said to him one afternoon, lying curled in the crook of his arm while he read passages to her from a book on Tevinter History. "I never knew you loved to read so much."

"King, remember," he said. "Not much time for it these days. And although Wynne was happy to lug half a library around in her gear while we were traveling, I had this pesky stuff called armour in mine."

"Morrigan might have thought a little differently of you if she could see you now," she said trailing her fingers across his chest.

"She would have claimed I was pretending," he said. "That woman formed her opinion of me before I even opened my mouth. Probably dazzled by my looks and afraid to admit it."

"Mmm. Probably. I know I was."

He grinned at her. "All the ladies go on about how suave I am..." he said.

"_All _the ladies? Were these the ones also trying to pry your tongue off those icy lampposts?"

"Honesty will be the death of me," he said. He looked back down at the book. "Given my condition, there's not much else I can do here but read," he said. He closed the book and clasped her closer, his voice deepening to a point specifically designed to make her tingle. "Although a few things are coming to mind at the moment."

She took a breath and shifted slightly against him. "Gently now," she whispered, "you don't want to exert yourself."

"I wasn't planning on exerting myself at all, actually." His hands started to wander across her back and down further.

"Are you still angry about being stuck here?" she asked, arching a little so he could reach more of her.

His hands stopped. She gave a little sigh of disappointment. "No," he said softly. "Apart from the constant headaches and not being able to get up, it's been a bit like a holiday to be honest."

"You haven't really stopped since we killed the archdemon, have you?" she said then, wonderingly. "I didn't really think of it before..."

"Well, Warden Commander, I don't seem to remember you pausing for breath much along the way either."

"Let's take advantage of it then," she said, sitting up and straddling him suddenly. He put the book aside and smiled up at her.

"Every second," he said.

They held a small celebration on the day Miranda's pregnancy reached the fourth month. Although Anders and Rowan said she was by no means completely out of danger, they both seemed to think that the risk of losing the baby had dramatically reduced.

Alistair was out of bed the next day - although he had to walk with the aid of a cane and he was remarkably short of breath. Anders pronounced his body free of the poison.

"Now you just have to eat and exercise and get back to your normal self," he said.

She could see he was angry at the way his body responded. From the age of twelve he had been trained in arms and he was used to a body at the peak of athleticism. To be reduced to a hobbling wisp was frustrating to say the least. She caught him trying to lift Duncan's shield one afternoon and had to rush to stop him before he toppled under the weight.

"When I found that in the warehouse in Denerim, _I _could barely lift it," she scolded him. "What in Andraste's name do you think you're doing?"

He growled. "What I'm supposed to be able to do!" he snapped back, before collapsing in an armchair. He was shirtless and the effort had turned him pale and sweaty. The white tooth marks of the archdemon that speckled his abdomen stood out in sharp contrast to the gold of his skin and his lips were pressed together in pain. She knelt next to him and stroked his hair.

"You will be able to again," she said. "It's just going to take a little time."

They received a letter from Zevran the following week. It told them nothing save that he was still alive and still investigating. They hadn't expected anything more, but Miranda was beginning to feel a bit trapped. They were, to all intents and purposes, helpless at the tower. Their assailants must have known that was where they were headed. It was probably only a matter of time before they attacked, and she wasn't sure if they would target her and Alistair, or her brother in Denerim.

They corresponded daily with Fergus, who was fulfilling his role as regent admirably. The news of Miranda's pregnancy was being kept secret - their absence was explained by a diplomatic mission to Orlais.

Alistair's strength increased to the point where he could spar again - no armour yet, but the templars were happy to oblige him for a short session each day. He was obviously relieved.

She was watching him spar one morning in the tower courtyard with a female templar by the name of Rhianna when the message from Zevran arrived. A mage apprentice tapped her on the shoulder and handed her the envelope - sealed with Zevran's mark.

"Alistair!" she called. He looked up and was promptly bashed from his feet by the young templar's shield.

"Oh... your majesty.." she stammered as Miranda hurried to his side. "I'm so sorry... I..."

"Ooof," Alistair said, sitting up. "It's quite all right young lady," he said between breaths. "You saw an advantage and took it. I was stupid to look away."

She continued to stammer out apologies until Miranda took pity on her and ordered her away. She rolled her eyes at Alistair and helped him to his feet. "If I'd done that with you next to me you would have knocked her flat before she could get to me," he said then.

"Just goes to show you shouldn't go into a fight without me," she said. "We've got a message from Zev."

He sheathed his sword and motioned her to open it.

_Your majesties,_

_I hope this finds you well. I anticipate the negotiations will come to a conclusion before the twentieth of this month. I recommend your immediate response. We should be able to ship fifty units to the agreed upon location before that time, but only if you are prepared for any natural delays. _

_Yours,_

_Zevran Aranai._

Alistair breathed in sharply. "That gives us four days," he said.

"Negotiations means an attack with mages," Miranda said. "Plus fifty troops. Do we have enough protection here? I haven't seen fifty templars..."

"He didn't mention Fergus. They must be holding off on Denerim for now."

"That's good to know." She looked up into his eyes. "Are we safe here?" she asked him again. "You're not fit to move yet... and" she placed a hand on her growing belly "I don't think I'm in the mood for it either."

He nodded. "Greagoir, Irving and I have discussed the security of the tower thoroughly," he said. "We'll be safe."

"I don't like putting this place in danger again. After what happened during the Blight.."

He took her hand. "That wasn't your fault. Or mine."

She squeezed his hand. "We'd better get this news to Greagoir and Irving."

"I'll go. You need to find Anders and Rowan for your treatment." He placed his hand on her belly for a moment. She had begun to feel movement, there, occasionally, and although she had tried to share it with Alistair the child had been extremely uncooperative - falling still whenever her husband touched her. This time, however, he was rewarded with a sharp kick under his hand. She saw his face lighten with wonder and smiled with him. He took in a deep breath, kissed her and left.

Anders and Rowan were in her room when she got there. Anders was scowling.

"We've just had word from Zevran," she said. "There's going to be an attack in three days."

"Thank Andraste," Anders breathed. She gave a short laugh of astonishment.

"Anders?"

He blushed. "I'm sorry, Commander," he said hastily. "Just... going a bit stir crazy here. It's the longest I've been in one place since the _last _time I was in the Tower."

"You were in the Palace for months," she pointed out.

"Yes... but in the palace there's Denerim just outside... and not so many templars... and... to be honest Commander, they _look _at me here. I've never liked the way they do that."

"I thought you enjoyed it when people looked at you."

"Some people, yes. Pretty girls mainly. Templars and former teachers, no."

She sat in the chair they'd been using for her treatments. "You never did tell me how you managed to escape so many times," she said.

He smiled lopsidedly at her as he called forth power. Anders always started the treatment as he could detect the taint, but Rowan usually took over when Anders' mana was depleted.

"I can't go giving away secrets, your majesty. Any way, I'd hardly have managed it seven times if I did it the same way every time, would I?"

"Some mages get to a point where they are actually _allowed_ to leave the tower," Rowan commented.

Anders snorted. "Do you have any idea how much bootlicking is involved in getting to that point?"

Rowan grinned. "Actually yes, I do, seeing as I'm one of those mages. As was my mother."

"Goody goodies. Both of you."

She had a lot of sympathy for Anders. She'd felt the same way, sometimes, at Highever - forced into a mould she didn't want for herself. The court lady rather than the adventurous rogue she'd always imagined herself as.

_I ended up getting both, _she thought.

The child inside her gave a particularly well aimed kick at her bladder. She jumped. "Ahah!" Anders said. "I felt that. Jumpy little bugger, isn't he?"

"He?" she said. "Do you know that for certain?"

Anders flashed a look at Rowan, who shook his head and tutted. "Sorry, your majesty," he said. "We weren't going to tell you unless you asked."

"I had no idea you could even tell!"

"Do you want us to tell the king?"

She thought for a moment, then shook her head, smiling. "No," she said. "Let's surprise him, shall we?"

When the attack came they were ensconced in the basement of the tower, surrounded by templars. Alistair fretted at the confinement - as did Anders. She found she was relieved - the baby was sapping her energy and she really wanted nothing but to stay stationary and protected.

They received regular updates, although the only people in the room with them were Anders and Rowan mage apprentices came to the door often. The attack had come in the middle of the night - swimmers had swarmed up the sides of the tower and attempted to break in through windows before the magical attacks began from the ground.

Alistair and Anders played dice while Rowan and Miranda read. There was a long gap between updates and she fell to pacing the room for a while, too anxious to concentrate on her book. It was nearly dawn when there was a knock at the door. Rowan opened it.

She had time to recognise the red haired Templar who had sparred with Alistair a few days ago before Rowan crumpled in a heap. Alistair leapt to his feet and she stepped back as the woman stepped into the room raising her sword. Anders gathered magic that immediately failed as the templar threw back her arms and cast holy smite. That action saved their lives, as Alistair and Miranda were both thrown in different directions. She managed to gain her feet as the templar advanced on Alistair, drawing her sword. He was struggling to his feet - more weakened than she by a spell he would normally have brushed aside. She drew her dagger and leapt for the woman's throat before she could reach him, cutting it in one smooth motion that splattered her husband and the wall with blood.

Alistair was on his feet and gasping when she felt the presence of someone else in the room and spun - too late - to face another mage advancing on them. She felt herself caught suddenly in a crushing prison of pain and cried out, unable to move. She heard Alistair roar in defiance and felt the cooling relief of his cleanse before he took two rapid steps forward and felled the mage with stunning blow to the head.

More templars poured into the room then - but they were obviously not attacking. They took quick note of the three unconscious mages and the dead templar. Alistair was on the floor, gasping for breath. She was slowly recovering from the after effects of the spell. Anders and Rowan began to move slowly, groaning.

The lead templar - Berrick, one of the Denerim contingent, rushed to her side. "Your majesty.."

"That one - " she said, pointing at the unknown mage. "He needs to be searched and restrained. Whatever you do don't let him kill himself. Search him thoroughly."

"Rhianna?" he said then, noting the body. "Did she fall defending you?"

"No, she did not," Alistair said forcefully, from the ground where he lay. "She was a traitor. My wife had to kill her."

Berrick's face twisted. "I can't believe it," he said.

"Believe it!" Alistair shouted, then blanched with the effort. "And believe me when I say if there are any more of them I'll make sure they meet the same fate. Has the attack finished?"

"The last of them have retreated. We managed to capture two assassins, but they died shortly afterwards. This mage - " he motioned to the unconscious figure, who was being carried out - "is the only..." he stopped. "Wait, that's Achart - he's a circle mage!"

Alistair groaned and Miranda had to stop herself from gasping. It wasn't that surprising - if they had managed to get to Rhianna there was no reason why they wouldn't have been able to corrupt a circle mage as well.

"So I guess we're not safe here after all," she said in a small voice. She found she had both her hands on her stomach again, as though they were armour enough to defend the child inside her.

"No," Alistair said. "No we're not."


	12. Chapter 12

There were only six templars besides Berrick in the room with them. Miranda acted quickly. None had left the room and she immediately told Berrick to shut the door.

"Are these men reliable?" she asked Berrick.

He nodded. They had all been on guard outside when Rhianna and the mage had attacked.

"Who let these two in?"

"I did," Berrick said, unhesitatingly. "Rhianna was here to give a report on the battle - Achart was accompanying her."

"How many templars are there still outside?"

"None, we all came in when we heard the commotion."

"Excellent."

"What are you planning?" Alistair said, still on the floor, struggling for breath.

"We're going to have to leave immediately," she said then. "It's clear we can't trust the circle mages any longer. I say we make for Amaranthine."

"The wardens?" Berrick said.

She nodded.

"I hate to bring you down, my love," Alistair said, painfully getting to his feet. "But there's no guarantee these Templars are reliable either."

"No there isn't," she said coldly. "But they'll be with us, and we'll be watching." She turned to Berrick. "I'm sorry if our mistrust is misplaced, but as you can see - " she gestured to Rhianna's body - "my husband and I are not incapable of defending ourselves - even without armour and in ill health."

Berrick bowed. "Your majesty, I understand. I will give you my word that I will not betray you, or allow any templar under my command to do so."

"I thank you for the sentiment," she said, "even if I can't assure you that I believe it's genuine."

Anders and Rowan were coming to. She took a moment to thank the Maker that all their gear was with them. "We need to pack," she said. "We'll be leaving directly."

An hour later they were making their way out of the tower. Alistair and Miranda wore hooded cloaks and were dressed in mage robes. There was still enough chaos in the tower from the attacks for their passage out of the basement and to the docks to pass unnoticed. When they got to the boatman, however, they hit a snag.

"No one leaves without the First Enchanter or the Knight Commander's permission," he said roughly.

Berrick solved the problem efficiently by knocking the man unconscious and taking the boat himself.

"I'm surprised none of my brethren are taking this opportunity to escape," Anders said as the Templars rowed them across the lake.

"Some may well be," Miranda said to him.

He grinned in the dawn light.

Alistair was sitting close to her, shivering occasionally. He was obviously still unwell and her heart ached with worry for him. They would have a hard journey and she wasn't sure how he would hold up.

"My love," he whispered to her. "If these men are false, we are doing exactly what our enemies want."

"I know," she said. "But I don't see that we have any choice, do you?"

He sighed. "That cleanse nearly killed me," he said then. "I won't be able to do it again. And that leaves you with two mages for protection only. Against six templars."

"Easy odds," Miranda said. "Six templars? We killed three dragons, remember?"

He let out a desperate laugh. "Not all at once," he said.

"Anders is pretty good against templars, from what I've heard." For some reason, this made her husband laugh even harder. "What? What did I say?" she said.

He waved a hand. "You should probably ask him."

Achart, the traitorous mage, was confined in anti-magic shackles while he was still unconscious. They would have to confront him when they got to camp. Miranda wasn't looking forward to it.

They traveled as far as possible that day - although it wasn't as far as she would have liked. Alistair was exhausted and ill and eventually had to be carried on a litter by two of the templars. Although he cursed at first the noises were quickly replaced by snores.

She was exhausted enough to drop by the time they reached camp, but she knew she and Anders and Rowan would have to split watch between them. It was important that the Templars didn't know how tired they all were. The mage was still unconscious - she realised Alistair must have hit him very hard indeed. Anders and Rowan treated her, then Anders took first watch.

When the morning dawned she woke to Rowan gently shaking her. Alistair was awake and had managed to take a good part of the night watch - reasoning that if he was being carried most of the way he could sleep then.

"The mage is awake," Rowan said. She got to her feet - still dressed, and hastily pulled her hair back.

The templars were stirring - they also kept a watch at Miranda's insistence - but she and Alistair approached the mage alone.

Achart was an elf - groggy with a flowering bruise on his temple from Alistair's fist. He realised as soon as he was upright that he was confined. To Miranda's surprise he did not struggle or protest, simply hung his head and wept.

"You know what we need to know," Miranda said. "Are you going to tell us willingly?"

He shrugged. "Why not?" he said. "I have failed. They will kill her now."

Alistair looked at her. "They?"

"The Tevinters. They came to me when I was in Denerim - a year ago. They had.. they had my sister. She was going to be sold into slavery but they said they would set her free if I helped them."

"You said they would kill her..."

"I helped them set up the attack on Anora - that was all I was supposed to do and Elia would be set free. But when I told them Anora was dead they laughed and said I had to do more..."

Miranda pursed her lips. "These were Tevinters?"

He nodded.

"They didn't say who they were working for?"

He shook his head. "I asked, once, but they said if I asked again they would kill Elia and me."

"Did they hold someone close to Rhianna as well?" Alistair asked.

The mage nodded. "Her mother," he said.

Miranda sighed, thinking of the young templar she had killed. "I am sorry, Achart. If there is any way we could help your sister..."

"It's too late now," he said bitterly. "They will know we failed in our attack."

"You'll have to come with us, at least until we reach Amaranthine," she said. "Do you know if there were any others like you and Rhianna in the tower?"

"I am sure there were," he said. "But Rhianna and I only knew about each other."

Alistair pulled her aside. "I'm not happy about taking these templars with us," he said.

"Neither am I," she said. "But we need them for now. Even if some of them are traitorous - I doubt that all six of them are. I'm inclined to trust Berrick - he's been at the palace for more than a year. The rest of them? Well, we'll need to keep watch."

She would recall that trip to Amaranthine in nightmares later in her life. The bone-crushing weariness and drudgery of constant vigilance. Her constant worry for her husband, who needed to be carried much of the way. Alistair's condition continued to improve, however, and Anders and Rowan were welcome company. She trusted them both implicitly.

Three days into their journey she awoke to a thud and a body collapsed next to her bedroll. Anders stood directly behind it. One templar, a male, had attempted to stab her while she slept. Anders had forgone magic and killed him with a dagger of his own.

She should have been shocked, but she simply nodded at the mage-warden. It was one of the younger templars - she'd not found out his name. "Only five now," she said softly.

There were no more attacks. They reached Amaranthine in a state of absolute exhaustion, met at the gates by Seneschal Varel.

"Varel," she said. "We need protection. Where is Sigrun?"

The seneschal took in their appearance rapidly and called for guards.

"The templars need to be housed under guard," Alistair said. "We are not sure if they are to be trusted."

"I am sorry, Berrick," Miranda said to the templar commander. He bowed.

"Your majesty, I am your servant and I understand. I hope and pray to the Maker that this will be sorted soon."

Varel had them taken directly to their quarters. "I'll inform the Commander of your arrival," he said. "Rest for a while if you can. She will probably come directly to you."

She gratefully collapsed into the bed, as did Alistair, fully clothed. She felt safe here - surrounded by the familiar smells of the keep and the constant feeling of many wardens gathered in one place. They were no longer alone.

They slept the rest of that day and the night after, until their appetites woke them. Miranda clambered out of bed first, discovering the room had been equipped with water for washing and spare clothes for which she was abundantly grateful. Varel was, as always, brutally efficient. A note next to the washbasin informed them that the Commander would see them when they awoke, in her offices for breakfast.

When they were both dressed and decent they made their way there.

Sigrun greeted them both warmly, shaking Alistair's hand and hugging Miranda. She exclaimed over the pregnancy and sat them at the large table in the centre of her offices, which was piled high with food.

"I made sure the kitchens knew to provide a more than robust repast," she said, grinning. "You didn't eat when you got here - I'm sure you're both starving."

They fell to without speaking for a few minutes. Sigrun sat watching them with her hands folded in front of her, not eating.

"So," she said finally. "Fill me in."

Miranda had no qualms about telling Sigrun everything. She had proven her loyalty time and again, both to the wardens and to Miranda personally. She was a shrewd and insightful leader as well.

"It's quite likely your enemies are aware of where you have gone," she pointed out. "It's not as though you have many other places left to hide."

"I know," Miranda said. "But we can hope we have gained a little time. I only wish we had some way of communicating with Zevran. He will think we're still at the tower."

"In that regard you're lucky," Sigrun said. "Zevran passed through here three weeks ago. He took ship to Orlais."

"Orlais?" Alistair said.

"He wasn't staying there," the dwarf said. "He said he was on his way to Tevinter. Which seems to suggest your theory that the Tevinters are behind this is the correct one."

"Did he give you any other information?" Alistair asked.

"I'm afraid not."

Miranda looked at Alistair and shrugged. "We can hope that he comes back this way," she said.

He bit his lip in thought. "We could follow him," he said finally. "Fergus is telling everyone we're in Orlais already."

Her jaw dropped in shock.

"Really, my love," Alistair continued. "Are we going to be safer here? If the Tevinters or whoever is coming after us would attack the tower, do you think they would hesitate to besiege the vigil?"

"I hope they would," Sigrun said.

"But I'm... you're..."

"You're pregnant and I'm half dead. But we can take Anders and Rowan with us - there's no reason why we can't take a few of the other wardens as well. To be honest we're probably safer on the move than anywhere else."

There were so many reasons why it was a bad idea, but she couldn't bring them to mind. And part of her realised he was right. If they would attack the tower, they would attack the Vigil. And if they could corrupt Templars and Mages why not wardens? She trusted Sigrun, she trusted Anders and Rowan. She trusted Alistair. And if they left now they would surely confuse the enemy enough to throw them off their tail.

"You can make for the Orlesian Warden headquarters. We'll equip you as wardens as well."

"Ah... what about my condition?" Miranda said.

"No particular problem," Sigrun said, grinning. "It wouldn't be the first time we sent an Orlesian Warden home pregnant."

Miranda grinned in reply. "Oh, yes indeed," she said. "I'd forgotten about that."

"Who do you want to take?" Sigrun said. "I'm assuming you need Anders - would you like Oghren? Felsi and little Miranda are in Orzammar at the moment and Oghren is available..."

"Definitely," Miranda said, without hesitation.

"What?" Alistair said. "You can't be serious... he'll..."

"Alistair, we know we can trust him."

"Yes, but to do what?"


	13. Chapter 13

Alistair was terrified. He'd spent the morning arranging gear for them - Miranda's condition meant that no armour would fit her and although Wade seemed keen to design and make some maternity armour for her Herren put his foot down and Miranda laughed. She was going to have to travel without armour at all and Alistair was beginning to seriously doubt his judgement about their decision to leave.

"What do you think about this?" she said to him in the room they were sharing that afternoon. She was wearing warden mage robes - similar to Anders' but with some adjustments. A deep blue with the warden griffon emblazoned on the back, they gathered just below her breasts and flowed downwards straight to her knees - allowing room for her growing belly. They weren't tight around her legs, so she had freedom for her long strides (and if, for whatever reason, she needed to run). She still wore her drakeskin boots and gloves. She didn't wear her Duncan's sword and dagger in their usual sheaths, instead she had Duncan's dagger in a boot sheath, another strapped to her thigh out of sight, and her dragonbone longbow and quiver on her back.

He had to admit the robes suited her - and they offered some magical protection - but Alistair wasn't satisfied. "You know they won't stop an axe or a sword," he said. "You'll need to stay out of melee fighting if there is any."

She sighed and sashayed up to him - obviously enjoying the feel of skirts again. He caught tantalising glimpses of her knees as she walked and he felt his pulse quickening. Court dresses always came to the floor and there was something about the way the top of her boots and the bottom of the robes didn't quite match up that was extremely distracting. "I'll stay out of melee," she said. "But you know I'm not the best archer."

"You're better than most," he said.

"Leliana wollops me on the practice field," she said, grimacing a little.

"Leliana is one of the best," Alistair said, encircling her in his arms and kissing her nose. "You, however, are merely excellent." He sighed.

"What is it?"

"I'm doubting myself," he said. "I'm beginning to think this was a stupid idea." He smiled a little. "A royally stupid one, to be honest." She smiled with him.

"It's not," she said. "We are safer on the move, and I doubt our enemies will expect us to leave Ferelden."

"You think they think we're _not_ royally stupid, in other words."

She squeezed him. "You're not stupid, royally or otherwise. You never have been."

He squeezed her back, still after four years of marriage amazed at her confidence in him. He didn't know what he'd done to earn it.

They found Oghren in the audience chamber talking to another dwarf warden. He was surprisingly sober, for Oghren, and keen to travel with them.

"Well, cover me in butter and call me a roasted nug," he said when he saw Miranda's belly. "The little pike twirler really does get his end away sometimes."

Alistair blushed. He sometimes suspected Oghren and Zevran had a competition going to see who could embarrass him more.

Miranda embraced the dwarf warmly. "Oghren, you don't change."

The dwarf gave his gravelly laugh. "Can't see how there'd be any benefit to that!" he said. "We going to Orlais then? Don't know that they like dwarfs much there."

"I don't think they like anyone much, who isn't Orlesian," Alistair said. "Hence their tendency to conquer places. But they're civilised - when they're at home any way, and they make some very nice wine. And some excellent cheeses, I've heard."

"Hehehe. You trying to convince me this is a good idea?" he said.

"Actually, I think I'm trying to convince myself," Alistair replied, grimacing a little. Miranda took his hand and squeezed it.

"How are Felsi and little Miranda?" she asked.

"Ahh, you know. Little Miri's cute and manipulative. Just like her mother. All in all it'll be good to get away for a while."

"Well, I hope you're packed and ready," Miranda said.

"Yup. I'll see you at the docks tomorrow night."

"Try to be sober as well," Alistair said. "We don't want you getting on the wrong ship."

"Sodding fun spoiler," the dwarf muttered as they left.

They would ship from Amaranthine port at the evening tide. Alistair wasn't looking forward to it for more than one reason. They would have to enter the city in stealth - he was well known there, as was Miranda, and not even the ship's crew knew they carried the king. He had not traveled by ship with Miranda before, and he was dreading having a certain fact about himself being uncovered.

"My love," he said, as they walked through the city surrounded by other wardens. He was wearing warden armour instead of King Cailan's ostentatious gold suit, but still felt like everyone must know who they were. "I'm afraid there's something you don't know about me."

She raised her eyebrows at him. "Let me guess - you're the heir to the throne of Ferelden."

"Ha ha. Funny."

"I do my best."

"No, it's much worse than that. I... uh..."

"What is it?" she looked concerned now, under the hood of her robe.

"I get seasick," he said.

She let out a sudden laugh. "You what?"

He blushed furiously. "Like nothing else. It's terrible. Last trip to Orlais I threw up the entire time."

"Rowan can probably help you," she said, still smiling. "He's good with that sort of healing."

Alistair's heart leapt in sudden hope. "Maker, I hope you're right!"

They were smuggled onto the ship and ensconced in a cabin of their own. It was tiny, with a small bunk on one side that was barely big enough for one. There was a hammock strung up as well - Alistair took note - they obviously expected one of them to sleep in the ridiculous thing. He wondered if he would be able to - he'd tried a hammock once and fallen out three times.

Not even the Captain knew exactly who they were, only that they were important Orlesian wardens - important enough to warrant two senior wardens and a mage as an entourage. Important enough not to have questions asked of them.

Alistair's stomach had given a flip as soon as he stepped off dry land and as he sat on the tiny bunk in the cabin waiting for the ship to sail he found himself swallowing reflexively.

Miranda seemed to find his predicament hilarious. She was stowing their gear under the bunk and in the tiny chest along the wall under the window. The trip was only four days across the Waking Sea to Val Royeaux, but in his mind those four days would probably feel like the entire year they had spent fighting the blight. He scowled at her. "You've never been seasick?" he said to her.

"Oh, of course I have," she said. "Highever's a port town as well you know. But I'm just surprised - didn't you spend time on boats on Lake Calenhad?"

He shook his head. "Only the once," he said, and swallowed again, and looked away, suddenly awash in memories. "On the trip to the chantry."

Miranda's face suddenly filled with sympathy. She finished stashing her weapons and came to sit next to him, pulling off his gauntlet and taking his hand in hers. "Do you know how Fergus helped me overcome my seasickness?" she said. Her fingers were doing lovely things to him as she ran them over his palm, tracing each of his fingers lightly, resting on his wrist for a moment before running down again. When she had sat down the robes had ridden up to expose a tantalising glimpse of thigh. He swallowed for an entirely different reason, mouth suddenly dry.

"No," he said. "How did he?"

"Every time we went on a ship," she continued, gently undoing the buckles on his vambraces and letting them fall, "he insisted that I spar with him on deck until we had been in open ocean for at least an hour."

She moved onto the buckles of the rest of his armour, unclipping them with sure knowledge and letting the pieces fall.

"On deck, you say," he said. She stood up to reach the buckles on the back of his breastplate, straddling him and reaching her arms around to the back - a truly delightful position. Although the warden mage robes were high cut to the neck, they buttoned and Miranda had taken the opportunity to unbutton them down to a point that delivered him a marvelous view. He took a deep breath and inhaled her scent.

"Yes," she continued, reaching a little further forward, so his lips were almost touching her neck. He resisted the urge to nibble, intrigued by her actions and not wanting to spoil her plans. The last buckle on his breastplate was undone and she gently lifted it from him, placing in the floor before turning to his padded undershirt. "I cursed him the first time," she said. "I was so sick I could barely stand up. But I loved to spar with him, so I did it."

She unbuttoned his shirt and let it slide from his shoulders, lightly touching the skin _here_ and _there _until his breath was catching on each inhale and the temperature of the room had increased at least a tenfold. She dipped her head and traced one of his nipples with her tongue, lightly and quickly, before lowering to one knee and starting on the buckles of his cuisses and greaves. The sight of her kneeling in front of him was enough to make him shift uncomfortably - the pressure in his groin was becoming unbearable.

"And you'd never guess," she continued, as the last piece of armour fell and she began to tug on his trousers - he had to exert a lot of control not to lift his hips towards her, "but I forgot I was sick very soon after the first clash of weapons."

"The first clash..." he said between breaths as she freed him from his trousers and dipped her head into his lap... "Oh.. _Maker..."_

Her tongue encircled him once.. twice before she took him into her mouth completely. He closed his eyes and twined his fingers in her hair as she moved on him, slowly, ever so slowly, maddeningly gentle.

After a few moments she lifted her head and fixed him with her gaze. He drew her close to him and kissed her deeply, moving one hand under her robes, pushing aside smallclothes and reaching inside. He was rewarded with a gasp and she threw back her head, eyes closed as he explored, pushing her chest forward until he was all but forced to bury his head in her bosom, licking, nipping and kissing until she impatiently pushed his hand away and adjusted her position to slip herself down on his hard length. They both let out a moan as she began to move, again, slowly, so slowly. He let himself be carried away by sensation, glorying in the sight of her, mouth parted, eyes fixed on his.

Their pleasure built to a point where they both needed more and he wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her bodily off him and laying her on the bed. She gave a little sigh of disappointment as he slid from her, but he pushed up her robes quickly and sheathed himself again, forcefully this time. She cried out in pleasure as he began to thrust at a greater pace, clutching at his back as he buried his face in her neck, breathing hard and fast.

He felt the gathering sensation in the pit of his stomach that meant he would not last much longer reached down and between them with one hand, finding her centre of pleasure and rubbing it in time with his own thrusts until her face flushed and she let out a shuddering cry. A few more thrusts and he too, felt the overwhelming pleasure of release. He collapsed on her for a moment, then shifted to the side, pressed against the wall of the cabin.

"Still seasick?" she said then. He let out a laugh.

"Not at all," he said.

"Fergus and I would spar for at least an hour, you know," she said. "Sometimes more."

"Well.." he said, twirling a strand of dark hair in his fingers. "It's highly possible once we're under way I will have a recurrence. I may need more distracting."

She smiled lazily up at him. "I'm here to serve, your majesty."


	14. Chapter 14

The trip flew by after that. They stayed in the cabin most of the time, only going on deck at night when there was less chance of being recognised. Winds were fair and Alistair's seasickness hardly bothered him - a combination of Miranda's excellent distraction techniques and an elfroot concoction of Rowan's meant he had an opportunity to actively enjoy the sensation of being at sea for the first time.

When Val Royeaux came into sight he was almost disappointed. There was something to be said for having a lockable cabin and very little demands on their time. They had abandoned their warden emblazoned wardrobe in favour of plain armour and robes - Miranda's were the same style but without the griffon on the back. Although the crew raised their eyebrows, at the change, no one said anything, and Alistair had a moment to mentally thank Sigrun for choosing a crew who were obviously used to being discreet.

They had decided not to go near the Orlesian Wardens, considering their usually dour demeanor and tendency to stand on ceremony Miranda had reasoned they would have a much better chance of remaining anonymous if they travelled as regular merchants rather than wardens or nobility. Any pretense of being Orlesian would have to go once they disembarked as well. Although Miranda spoke the language (having been tutored as a Teyrn's daughter) she was by no means fluent and Alistair mangled the accent hopelessly.

They took rooms at an inn that would have been fit for a palace in Denerim, and cost nearly as much as one. Alistair whistled when Miranda translated the amount they would have to pay, but they didn't want to linger in the city and find somewhere cheaper.

They met in Alistair and Miranda's room. Sigrun had provided them with maps to help them plan their route to the Tevinter Empire.

"It's a two month journey to Tevinter," Alistair said. He looked at Miranda. "I don't want you giving birth on the road, my love."

"Believe me neither do I," she said.

"That's something we'd all like to avoid," Anders said then. "But the Queen is only five months along - she won't give birth on the road unless something goes seriously wrong."

"But two months back again - supposing we're luckier than we've been so far and find out who's behind this as soon as we enter Minrathos? She _will_ give birth on the road back."

"Alistair, you are not going to suggest leaving me here."

He shook his head. "No, I just want to make sure we're prepared. If we do have to have this baby on the road - do we have what we need?"

Miranda looked at Anders. He spread his hands. "You know, I'd prefer it if we had a traveling midwife with us. I haven't attended any births myself. For some reason women's husbands' aren't keen on me being the main attendant at the birth, despite my eagerness to learn."

Rowan snorted. "You wouldn't want to be at a birth, Anders."

"Why not? It's not as though I'm not familiar with all the mechanics..."

"Because, you mad, skirt wearing freak," Oghren said suddenly, "it's a bit like watching your favourite inn being trashed by darkspawn." They all looked at the dwarf. "What?" he said blearily.

"Have _you _been at a birth, Oghren?" Alistair asked.

"'Course I have. Dwarven women aren't stupid enough to let their husband's think it's easy. We all have to be there," he looked suddenly queazy. "Had to be sober, too. Worst thing I ever did."

"Worse than killing a broodmother in the deep roads?" Alistair asked. He knew he shouldn't, but couldn't help himself.

The dwarf shuddered. "You have no idea."

"Do we need to kidnap a midwife then?" Miranda said. She looked a little pale.

Rowan shook his head. "Don't worry, your majesty. I have attended many births. And I'd like to assure you that despite our short friend's opinion, it's not nearly as traumatic as you might think. Women do it all the time - often without the help of a midwife - or anyone else for that matter."

Alistair couldn't help but think of his own mother, dead in childbirth. The thought had been at the back of his mind ever since Miranda's first pregnancy and now it loomed large and terrible in his head, so much so that he had to almost physically push it away. This was an enemy he couldn't fight for her, a blow he couldn't take.

"We're counting on you, then Rowan," he fixed Wynne's son with a stare that he hoped conveyed exactly how much.

That night he held her in their bed, his head tucked on her shoulder and his arms resting lightly on her belly, as though she might break. She could sense that something was bothering him, he knew. She had always been able to read him - not that he was a particularly difficult study, he thought wryly, but from the moment she'd met him, in Ostagar, she'd always said the right things to make him feel better.

"Don't be afraid," she said.

"How can I not be?" he asked. "You know what happened to my mother. What if..."

She twisted around to face him. "You didn't kill her, Alistair," she said, cupping his cheek with her hand. "No matter what that harridan of a sister of yours said. Women die in childbirth sometimes. Not as often as they used to, thank the Maker, and usually not if there's proper help available. Which I'm guessing your mother didn't have."

He shrugged, unable to keep the tears from his eyes. "I don't know," he said. "They never told me the details."

"I'll have Rowan, and Anders. And you."

"I just.. keep thinking. We wanted this so badly and I never really thought about what would happen if we got it."

"Hey," she said, pinching his chin with her fingers and giving him a little shake. "I'm not dying. Most women don't, you know. Otherwise we'd have a little bit of a population shortage."

"I can't protect you from this," he said. "That's why I'm frightened."

She looked at him for a long moment before reaching up and pulling his head down to hers, kissing him deeply and soundly. When they parted, she was smiling. "If you're there, I won't be frightened," she said. "Try not to be? For me?"

He swallowed and stroked her hair away from her face. There was no way he could explain to her how precious she was to him - what it would mean to him if he lost her. She couldn't ask him not to be afraid - she knew him too well for that. He answered her with the only thing he could say honestly.

"I'll try."

They needed horses for their trip, and a wagon for their gear, which was arranged for them by some of the ship's crew at Sigrun's orders. The next morning they met the first mate at the city gates - a burly red haired man called Delbert, who had their supplies.

They could take the Imperial Highway all the way to Minrathos. Alistair wasn't entirely sure it would be a good idea to do so, but with the wagon it wasn't practical to strike off into the wilderness so he was happy enough to follow it for now.

Eamon had insisted he study the political and social systems of Orlais for hours. Despite Leliana's insistence that it was a more complex society than that of Ferelden, he actually found it simpler to understand. Although he was somewhat puzzled by _why_ the aristocracy held absolute power without any support base, he could see how it would make a country easier to run. The thought of not having to meet with the arls and banns every time he wanted to make a decision was very appealing. He would have so much more time for... well, everything.

"There are disadvantages," Miranda said to him as they walked. "You've not been into the countryside of Orlais before, have you?"

"Not without a massive entourage, no."

She looked uncharacteristically grim. "You'll see what I mean."

He did on the third day from Val Royeaux. They were passing through a tiny village, surrounded by farms. Anders (who for some reason spoke better Orlesian than anyone else in their party) was negotiating with a farmer for some supplies - cheese mainly, although Miranda had convinced Alistair that they needed bread and vegetables as well - when a chevalier on horseback arrived.

The farmer tensed as soon as he saw him and shouted something over his shoulder in Orlesian. It was studded with expletives and Alistair had no idea what he'd said. Within the minute the farmer's wife appeared - a woman with blonde hair who probably would have been a beauty only a few years ago, but whose face was now haggard and worn and her back bent from hard work. The farmer apologised to Anders and continued his bartering, but the woman approached the chevalier, bent almost double and fawning.

Alistair couldn't hear the exchange, but it ended with the chevalier casually leaning down and backhanding the woman across the face with a gauntleted fist before riding off. Alistair had taken two steps with his hand on his sword hilt before he felt Miranda's hand on his arm. "It won't do any good," she said. "They have complete power here. She probably just told him she was out of milk."

He growled. "She was helpless!"

Miranda nodded. "Yes, she was. But we're not here to change the political system. We're just passing through."

When the woman came back to her husband, who's face was set and grim, she had blood running down the side of her face. Anders said a few words to the man, who's eyes lit up and he nodded. The mage turned to the woman and held up a hand over her wound - healing it rapidly with a burst of green light.

It wasn't the first time he had to use his healing magic for the people of Orlais.

Alistair's blood seemed to be in a constant state of boil as they traveled. Orlais was a fertile country - its farms were productive, yet the people of the villages were suffering from malnutrition and disease. The aristocracy taxed the people mercilessly, the chevaliers treated them as though they were personal slaves, yet the people did not revolt. In Ferelden if a Bann or an Arl tried to treat his people this way, they would leave for another Bann, or simply kill him and have him replaced. Here... well there was nowhere to run to that wasn't exactly the same. And the people were defeated - crushed.

"They won't rise up against it," Alistair said in wonder one night at camp, angrily breaking sticks and throwing them in the fire. "They don't even know that they have the power to!"

Anders sighed. "Justice once asked me why we mages didn't stand up to the templars at the circle," he said. "He said that apathy was a weakness. I said 'So is death'. When it gets down to it, the first person who stands up to a chevalier is going to become a corpse. Who wants to be that person?"

Alistair pursed his lips. "Only a fool," he said. "Or someone who has nothing left to lose."


	15. Chapter 15

It was a relief when they reached the Nevarran city of Cumberland and started up the Imperial Highway to the Silent Plains. They were traveling as rapidly as possible by this stage, stopping only to resupply. Miranda traveled most of the way in the wagon - although she had protested at first she eventually conceded that her back was killing her and took to the wagon happily enough.

Crossing the plains was tedious, although the first sight of the desert was impressive. They had decided to stay on the highway - mainly because it was the only way they could guarantee their water supply. It was peppered with oases that housed small settlements to service travelers. Surprisingly enough, there was enough traffic on the road that their presence was not noted.

The heat during the day was oppressive and the cold at night bone-chilling. Miranda did not fare well on the trip, spending nearly all of her time on the wagon. Alistair and Oghren found it was impossible to wear their armour and ended up dressed as the few native peoples in the area dressed - in flowing white robes. The mages did their best to keep their companions cool with occasional spells but having lived all his life in Ferelden Alistair wished nothing more than to be back in Denerim on a cold, wet day.

Here and there during their journey across the plains they came across evidence of the first blight. Miranda and Alistair in particular were fascinated by the heaps of darkspawn and human bones that scattered parts of the battlefield.

They left the plains and traveled up towards Minrathos. The people of Tevinter reminded Alistair of the people of Orlais, to a certain extent. There was a sense of fear here, however, that was greater than the fear held by those poor farmers. Unlike Orlais, they never saw the source of that fear, but there was no doubt that the people were under a shadow. In Tevinter, however, the sword that controlled them could be wielded from afar.

It was obvious, however, that their control was faltering. Here and there, dotted along the highway, there were villages and farms were the people were content and independent - not bothered by a local lord. The magisters, one man told them at an inn when they were only two weeks from Minrathos, stayed in the cities, mostly, where they could be serviced by elven slaves and entertained. Often they didn't come back to their estates for years at a time. During those times, he said, the people ruled themselves. They were free of the endless curse of conscription - for without the magisters to drive them, the army did not have the numbers to visit every town.

"We can see them coming, Wali," the man said, giving Alistair a gap toothed grin. They spoke a mangled form of the common tongue - as the people of Tevinter came from so many different tribal backgrounds before they were conquered. "We know where to hide. We do not need to go and die fighting qunari when there are crops to plant and women to bed."

They were attacked by bandits twice on the road after that village - desperate men and women who were ill-equipped and unskilled. It was during these battles that Alistair had time to truly admire Anders' magical abilities - the second time they were attacked he managed to take down five out of six of the bandits before Alistair had time to draw his sword. The mage was unlike any other mage he had fought with - Morrigan and Wynne had preferred to stay back out of the fighting, whereas Anders waded into the fray - confident that his spells were enough to protect him.

Miranda said he was just showing off. But it didn't alter the fact that he was brutally efficient.

Minrathos was one of the most beautiful cities Alistair had ever seen - beautiful, and also sad. It had less pretense than Val Royeaux - the buildings had obviously been built for a purpose rather than aesthetics, and held that true beauty that only comes from functionality. There was a sense of decaying splendor about the city however - many of the buildings were empty and in disrepair.

It was interesting that they actually saw fewer mages on the streets than they would have seen at any given time in Denerim. Alistair had formed a vague notion of magisters roaming the streets blasting random citizens with fireballs, but it seemed the ruling class preferred to stay safe in their towers rather than mingle with the populace.

They found an inn for their first night - near the docks and shabby - as their budget would have to last them for the entire trip back to Amaranthine.

"Are we going to try to find Zevran?" Anders asked as they sat in the tap room.

"If Zev's still here, my guess is he'll find us," Mrianda said.

"And if he's not?" Alistair asked.

"We'll have a lot of work to do," she replied.

_The market district of Minrathos held a myriad of stalls all fighting for the attention of the passers by. The elf watched as the tall Ferelden man attempted to haggle over a piece of jewellery, inexpertly. No merchant would let such a man way from his stall without charging at least double what his wares were worth. The elf took in the expensive armour, the warrior's stance of the man and wondered why he was buying something so flippant. Perhaps he was trying to charm a local girl? If so he would be better off giving her the gold so she could choose for herself._

_He was obviously foreign, and obviously used to a modicum of wealth - well fed and groomed - he was no common soldier. Was he worth robbing? The elf was hesitant. He had been following the man since early morning and he was staying in the docks area - not a place those with money usually chose to frequent - not if they valued their money at all. Yet he was heavily armed and armoured, suggesting he knew how to protect his money, should he have it. That also added an element of risk to any attempted thievery. _

_No, he probably had little actual coin on him, the elf concluded. There were other ways to make money from traveling Fereldens, however. The elf slipped silently away, heading for a spot he knew where what a man has seen was worth almost as much as what he could steal._

For the fourth night in a row they gathered in the taproom after a day of fruitless enquiries.

"We stick out too much," Anders said. "These people know full well we're Fereldens and we have nothing they want, save money, and not enough of that."

Miranda sighed and rested her head in her hands. The past four days she had spent mostly at the inn, although she had gone out in the company of Alistair in the mornings. She had felt certain that Zevran would have contacted them before now if he was here. They didn't have the resources or the skills to get to the bottom of things on their own, and she had only just realised how hopelessly inadequate they were, in both skills and equipment, for the task that most likely lay before them.

She took a deep breath, hating the thought of the idea that came to her. "We could announce who we are," she said.

Alistair's head snapped around to her. "What?" he said. "Holy Maker, Miranda, are you insane? I thought my idea of coming here was stupid, and you want to tell the very people who are trying to kill us that we're _in their city _with_ no guards?"_

"Hey!" Anders said. "What are we?"

"Yeah," Oghren said. "Why do you think you sodding well dragged us all the way here? It wasn't to polish your weapons!"

"No offense, Oghren," Alistair said, "but the five of us alone wouldn't stand a chance against a concerted attack by a group of Tevinter mages. They're on their home ground."

"Bring 'em on," Oghren growled. "I'll sodding bite their knees off."

"I didn't say it was a good idea," Miranda interrupted, "but it would flush them out."

"No," Alistair said. "Absolutely not."

"The Archon may give us protection if we go to him."

"The Archon may be the person who is trying to kill us!"

"If we're public enough he would probably hesitate to kill us. Although the Imperium is a long way from Ferelden, killing the ruling monarch of a nation on a diplomatic mission tends to annoy the nation he's supposed to be ruling."

"You're saying we go to him for protection? And _hope _that if he is the person trying to kill us, he's worried enough about relations with a country two months travel away not to do it?"

"Bah!" Oghren exploded. "By the ancestors, I need a drink. If you two want to have a sodding domestic, why don't you do it in your room. Tell us when you've made your decision and we'll bloody well go out and kill things for you."

"Hate to say it," Anders said. "But I'm with the moron on this one."

Alistair rolled his eyes. "Oh, yes," he said, "travel the world with loyal companions - they'll regale you with interesting tales on the road and help you through difficult decisions with sage advice. Or they'll tell you to sod off and get drunk."

"I trust your judgement, your majesty," Rowan said to Miranda. "But I have to say I'm not particularly keen on the idea of marching up to the Archon."

"Thank you, Rowan," Alistair said. "At least someone here agrees with me."

"We don't have to make a decision now," Miranda said, as Oghren and Anders made their way to the bar. "I don't much like the idea either, my love, but I haven't got any others at the moment."

They looked at each other for a long moment. Rowan took the opportunity to follow Anders and Oghren in the direction of alcohol.

"You know, neither do I." Alistair said finally. He ran his fingers through his hair. "We don't have to do it tomorrow, do we?"

She smiled at him. "No. I'd like to try to find out more without announcing ourselves to the world. If we can."

"I really miss Zevran," Alistair said after a moment.

She shifted uncomfortably in the small bed. For about a month now she'd been having trouble sleeping - every position she tried put pressure either on her back or her belly. When she did manage to get comfortable and fall asleep, she woke up soon after having rolled back onto her back automatically - her body simply didn't want to obey her instructions any longer. Alistair was sleeping soundly next to her. She envied him - and decided if they had more children he could carry them.

Giving up the struggle for the moment she got out of the bed and padded the two steps to the dresser where there was a jug of water. The inn was shabby and cheap, but it looked after its guests and she was grateful.

Something made her pause with the jug in her hand. She was facing away from the door, but she heard quite clearly the click of the handle as it moved. None of her companions would be stupid enough to enter their room without knocking first. She slipped as silently as she could to the side of the door and waited, jug still in hand.

When the door opened she didn't hesitate, but swung the jug with all her might.

A firm, brown hand caught her wrist before the jug could connect and the door and wall and owner of said hand were splashed with water.

"I am wounded, your majesty," Zevran said, spluttering a little, "not to mention, inconveniently, wet. Is that any way to greet a treasured friend?"


	16. Chapter 16

"How did you find us?" Alistair asked blearily. He was still in bed - shirtless and by Miranda's reckoning, slightly embarrassed that he'd managed to sleep through Zevran's arrival.

"Your majesty is not a discreet looking individual. Nor are your companions. It is extremely fortunate that you were not accompanied by our.... _small _friend during our travels in Ferelden. Once they had a clear description of him, the smell alone would have alerted our enemies of your presence as soon as you crossed the Silent Plains."

"Yes, well we certainly picked him to accompany us because of his stealthiness," Alistair said. "So I was recognised, then? Are we in trouble?"

Zevran grinned and shook his head. "You were recognised, my friend, yes. But not as the king."

"You mean people can't just recognise kingliness on sight alone?" Alistair asked. "I always thought there was meant to be some kind of ineffable air about us."

"Perhaps around some kings, Alistair. Not, however, around you."

Alistair rubbed his hand through his hair. "That's something of a relief, anyway."

"You were recognised as being Ferelden. And out of place. And when one of my sources of information comes to me and says that there is a large, friendly fellow with blonde hair attempting and failing to barter in a market who also just happens to look very competent with a sword and shield I think to myself that it sounds slightly familiar. When said fellow returns to an inn and is greeted... _extremely_ warmly by a heavily pregnant, dark haired beauty and proceeds to eat his meals with two mages and a shorter than average red headed drunk I think to myself, could that possibly be the King of Ferelden? And here I am."

"Why didn't you just ask for us at the inn? You had to wake us up in the middle of the night?"

"To be perfectly honest, Alistair, I didn't expect to find you here at all. I never assumed you would be so foolish as to come to Tevinter._ I _thought our enemies had set a trap for me. I fully expected to be shot at when I opened that door. Instead I was pleasantly - though damply - surprised by your wife. What on Thedas possessed you to follow me here?"

Miranda couldn't help but smile. "It was Alistair's idea, actually," she said.

"I hardly thought it was yours," the Antivan said.

"Oh, ha ha ha," Alistair said. "Yes. I thought it was a stupid idea as well. Miranda agreed with it, though, and what am I supposed to do when she agrees with me?"

"Possibly persuade her that you were wrong?" Zevran said.

"Was he?" Miranda said. "Zevran we were attacked in the Tower."

"I know, I sent you the message warning you about it, if you recall."

"There were traitors in the tower. We barely escaped with our lives."

The elf's eyebrow shot up. "Traitors in the tower?" he said. "I didn't have information about that." He stood up and started pacing the room. "This is serious. I was right to come here after all."

"You were right?"

"Our network uncovered the planned attack on the Tower - as you know, but there was no information about possible traitors. It was obviously filtered."

"You mean to say our enemies know of your network already?"

"I find that difficult to believe, considering most of the network was established _after _the attacks began. No, I think instead that this has been planned for a lot longer than we might have anticipated. Our enemies know of the possibility that their information can be uncovered - and so they are certain that no one person knows every aspect of their plans."

"What do you know about them?" Alistair said then. "Are they Tevinter? Are we even in the right place?"

"Oh yes," Zevran said. "Most definitely we're in the right place my friend. Those who wish you dead are in this very city."

"Is it the Archon?" Miranda asked.

"Luckily, no. Although I believe he knows of the group who is responsible. They are a form of... religious cult I'm afraid. Never the most stable of people."

"Why are they doing this? Do they want to destabilise Ferelden by killing off its heirs? Or is it something else?"

"The destabilisation of Ferelden is a secondary benefit to their cause. No, they wish to kill the entire Theirin line. Because of a prophecy."

"A prophecy?"

"Yes. That a child of the Theirin line will destroy all of Tevinter by plunging it into an endless blight."

Miranda placed her hands on her swollen stomach and looked at her husband. "Oh," he said. "Well, that sounds..... cheery. Does it say when?"

"Like most prophecies, its timing is remarkably vague. As is the interpretation. Some time in the next hundred years according to my information."

"So... not to sound selfish or anything, but what about the rest of Thedas? Is this an endless _contained _blight or are we all darkspawn crunch?"

Zevran sighed and sank into the only rickety chair in the room. "Again, that is the problem with these things. Such an inexact science, prophecy. There are two interpretations - one that this child will destroy Tevinter, the other that he or she will save it. The rest of Thedas isn't mentioned at all."

"Hence why we haven't heard of it before," Miranda reasoned.

"These people seem very well equipped and resourced for a bunch of religious cultists," Alistair said then.

"Alas, yes," Zevran said. "Their leader happens to be an extremely wealthy magister by the name of Sorren, who is not quite as fanatically stupid as some of his followers. He does not tell his people why they are killing. He just pays them. Unfortunate."

"I must confess, Zevran, to being a little disappointed," Alistair said.

"Why is that, my fine royal friend?"

"Well, you've gained all of this information, yet the threat still exists. Your trademark efficiency is on shaky ground here."

"I thank you for your confidence, Alistair. But there are some difficulties with reaching said magister which I was in the process of working around when you arrived. As it is your presence here, whilst still showing remarkable lack of logical reasoning, will actually prove useful."

"It will?" Alistair said.

"Yes, although I have a feeling you're not going to like what I have in mind."

"Zevran, I don't think I've ever liked what you have in your mind. But I'm open to suggestions at the moment, so how about you tell us."


	17. Chapter 17

"I don't like this," Alistair said to Miranda. "Remind me why this is a better idea because Zevran came up with it rather than you?"

"Because Zevran has back up. We're not going in there alone. And I trust him."

They were on a boat, heading to an island off the coast of Minrathos. Zevran had escorted them to the docks, with five others - two elves and three humans, all heavily armed. They were prisoners, being escorted to the home of the magister lord who had ordered their assassination.

The morning after Zevran's night time appearance Miranda and Alistair had made their usual trip to the market district. On their way back the passed through a series of back streets. They never made it back to the inn.

Anders, Rowan and Oghren put up an enormous fuss with the local authorities, loudly exclaiming that their friends had been attacked in the city where they were meant to be doing business. The local authorities had promised to look into it.

Later that afternoon the two mages and the dwarf also disappeared. The Minrathos guard were quietly relieved.

Zevran had shipped Anders, Oghren and Rowan to the island in the dead of the night before, with strict instructions and a detailed map of the single tower that stood upon it. Now Miranda and Alistair were being taken to the tower openly in a small row boat that had Alistair's stomach in knots. He'd already thrown up twice. Considering his hands were in manacles it had been quite an achievement to get to the side of the boat without making life slightly more miserable for the rowers.

Zevran stood in the prow of the boat, one leg up on the side, easily rolling with the waves. Alistair had a moment between bouts of seasickness to once again envy the elf's grace and poise.

They arrived at a small jetty. Four men were waiting for them - all dressed in silverite armour with visors down, armed with swords and shields. Their armour was marked with a crest of a single tower on an island - identical in shape to the tower that stood in front of them.

No words were spoken. Instead the four guards fell into step around Alistair and Miranda, closing in and separating them from Zevran and his companions. Zevran fell into step behind them as they entered the tower.

As they passed the threshold, Alistair felt a familiar coldness creep into his gut that had nothing to do with his retreating queaziness. He quickly glanced at Miranda, whose eyes had widened. She returned his glance, worry written plain across her face.

_Darkspawn, _he mouthed to Miranda. She nodded - the slightest of movements of her head.

_But different, _he thought. There was a sense of the taint, yes, and it came from above them, but it was stationary. He had felt it somewhere before, but he couldn't place the memory.

They climbed the tower. Alistair was unpleasantly reminded of their first trip to the Mages' Circle, desperate to find help for Arl Eamon's son. The tower had the same feeling of wrongness about it that he could feel here. Although the veil was not torn and there were no abominations or desire demons, he found himself mentally preparing himself, sorting through his templar abilities reflexively as though he was scouting for maleficar in the wilds.

Much like the Mages' Circle, the tower held a room at the top that would have been a harrowing chamber. As they entered, Alistair took in a rapid breath of surprise.

The source of the taint was standing in the middle of the chamber. He remembered the last time he had seen one - nearly six years ago, on one of his first missions with the Grey Wardens.

A mirror. Ancient in design. Used by the Tevinters of old for communication, Duncan had told him. He could almost see the old warden, standing in front of the one they had found, deep in some Tevinter ruins near a Dalish clan. Two members of the clan had been lost. Duncan had taken Alistair to explore the ruins, hoping to find the Dalish. Instead they were attacked by darkspawn. At the centre of the ruins - a mirror exactly the same as the one he saw here.

But it wasn't Duncan who stood in front of the mirror. It was a tall man, dressed in Tevinter mage robes with a red staff strapped to his back. He was facing away from them, but turned when they entered.

His first instinct was to encircle Miranda in his arms and turn his back to the man. The gaze he fixed on Alistair's wife was almost enough for him to break the pretense and attack immediately. It took in her face, then dropped to her belly and a feral gleam appeared in the yellow eyes.

"Ah, Zevran," the mage said. "I see you make good on your promises."

The elf bowed. "Naturally, my lord," he replied.

"I am frankly astonished that you managed to capture them both so... unscathed."

"Even grey wardens have their weaknesses," Zevran said. "In this case, their weaknesses were each other."

The mage smiled. "Ah," he said, stepping forward and motioning to the guards. Two of them moved to either side of the door. The other two remained on either side of Alistair and Miranda. "So this marriage is not one of convenience after all. We wondered."

Alistair was gripped by an urge not to have this man any closer to them. "Where did you find the mirror?" he asked suddenly. Pain exploded in the side of his face as the guard next to him backhanded him with a gauntleted fist. He staggered into Miranda, who did her best to steady him. The mage - he assumed it was Sorren - stopped his advance and turned back to the artifact that dominated the room.

"You like my little toy, do you?" he said. "It was in the tower before I came here. Took me many years to find out exactly how to activate it safely. You'd be surprised what it does."

"Not really," Alistair muttered.

Zevran came closer to the mage. "My lord, I am intrigued," he said. "I have never seen the like of it. Is this how you made your interpretation of the prophecy?"

Sorren nodded. "Indeed, my elven friend. Indeed it was."

"How does it work?" Alistair shifted uneasily as Zevran inched closer to the mirror. Their plan relied on both Zevran and Alistair being close to the mage when the time came, but Zevran had no way of knowing that the mirror was as much a danger as the man.

Sorren clapped his hands together. "Since you have proven so useful to me, Zevran, perhaps you would like a demonstration?"

"I would be most intrigued."

"As you know, my friend, the prophecy was penned many hundreds of years ago, before Ferelden became a nation. We had no idea what the prophecy referred to - as the Theirin line was yet to be established."

"Indeed."

"Also the accepted interpretation of the prophecy was such that the child referred to would _save _Tevinter from the endless blight, not cause it."

"You explained to me."

"However I had always been dubious about that interpretation. When the mirror was activated and I managed to divine some of its function, I used it to focus my intuition on the prophecy. This is what I saw."

Alistair let out a breath of relief as Zevran stopped - at least a few feet away from the mirror. Sorren stood directly in front of it and closed his eyes, moving his hands here and there on the sides. Then he stepped back.

Alistair's face appeared. But it wasn't Alistair - the eyes in that face were the wrong colour. "Some descendant of yours, I assume," Sorren said. "We knew it wasn't you, your majesty. Your description is quite clear."

The face wavered and the picture pulled back to show the figure standing in the centre of what was recognisably Minrathos, arms in the air. He was unarmed, but magic flowed from his fingertips. The ground opened up in front of him and the head of a dragon appeared.

"An archdemon," Miranda breathed.

"Yes indeed, your majesty. As you can see, it is quite clear that your... descendant... is calling forth one of the old gods. But that is not the worst of it."

The figure watched as the archdemon emerged from the massive whole in the earth, apparently unafraid. Hordes of darkspawn followed... and then...

..another archdemon. _Two _dragons.

"There are only two left," Alistair said. "You mean to say that our... child... or the child of our child is going to cause _two _blights to occur at the same time?"

"What does the prophecy say, exactly?" Miranda said.

"I would have to translate from the ancient Tevinter for you," Sorren said. "But it goes something like this:

_From Theirin line a man will come_

_To call the gods and be unmade_

_Endless blight and dragon's bane_

_By his hands alone._

_The Maker weeps for the land that once he cursed_

_Andraste's pyre is quenched._

_Revenge is served."_

"But that's... so vague," Miranda said.

"Absolutely!" Sorren said. "One of the reasons why the mirror has proven so valuable. My life before the mirror was dedicated to scholarship in Minrathos. We debated the prophecy for years, never coming to a true conclusion as to its meaning."

"Why was it given any credence at all?" Zevran asked. "You have told me many times that Magisters are often subject to fits of prophecy. Most of them are discounted and discredited."

"This prophecy was penned by Archon Tulvic - one of our most respected magisters. Every other prophecy he wrote - and he wrote many - has since come to pass." He turned to Alistair and Miranda again. "So you see, my friends," he said, "your deaths are necessary. I am sorry."

"Wait," Miranda said. "How do you know by killing us you'll stop this from happening? Alistair was a bastard son. There's no reason to believe he is the only one."

"Indeed no," Sorren said. "In fact I have every reason to believe he is not. However, we have ways of finding those of the Theirin line, believe me. All survivors will be found."

"The vision is as vague as the prophecy," Alistair said. "He could be fighting the darkspawn, not calling them. You have no _proof_."

Sorren's face twisted in sudden anger. "I do not need _proof,_" the mage spat. "I have _faith."_

Zevran was in position, directly behind the mage.

"Ah," Alistair said then, shifting so he was closer to his wife. "That makes it all perfectly reasonable then," and loosed the Holy Smite he had prepared earlier. Both his and Miranda's guards were hit with the blast and thrown aside. But Sorren - at whom Alistair had directed the spell, remained standing. The elves and humans who had accompanied them on the boat had drawn their weapons, and Zevran had his own daggers ready.

Sorren was surrounded by an impenetrable anti-magic barrier and shield. Alistair discarded the unlocked manacles from around his wrists and advanced on the mage, letting loose cleanse as he walked.

The barrier was unaffected.

"Please, your majesty," Sorren said, sighing, and gathering power for what Alistair suspected was a large area effect spell that would kill him and probably everyone else in the room. "You don't think that we Tevinters have not spent a long, long time training against your templar techniques?"

"We Ferelden folk are stubborn sometimes," Alistair said. "But the short answer is, yes, we figured you wouldn't be particularly bothered by templar anti magic skills." The Tevinter mage cocked an eyebrow in puzzlement. "That's why we brought an assassin as well."

Zevran moved smoothly and rapidly, stepping up from behind and slitting the mage's throat with brutal efficiency.

To Alistair's horror, however, as the mage's body collapsed another form took his place - all too familiar from their time at the Circle Tower.

The door behind him burst open - Anders, Rowan and Oghren rushing in at the pre-arranged signal.

"The rest of the tower is clear," Anders shouted, then stopped as he saw the demon in front of them. "Andraste's knickerweasles!" he cried. "It's a pride demon!"

"Fools!" the demon roared.

"How did I know it was going to say that," Alistair muttered to himself as Oghren tossed him Starfang and Duncan's shield. Rowan had Miranda's bow and quiver, which he quickly passed to her.

They attacked.


	18. Chapter 18

Alistair saw two of Miranda's arrows hit the demons torso and stick. It roared but did not slow, sweeping its arm in an arc that scattered all of Zevran's companions and kicking backwards, connecting with Zevran and throwing him across the room. Alistair had time to see Zevran pick himself up, shaking his head - obviously stunned by the impact of the demon's foot, before he readied his sword and charged forward, catching the edge of Duncan's shield in the beast's thigh and slicing it open. More of Miranda's arrows thunked just above his head.

He hacked at the beast for a few moments as it staggered under his impacts, then jumped back as it swept down with an arm and tried to grab him. A jolt of electricity slammed into the demon - Anders, Alistiar thought, but it shrugged the magic off - obviously much more resistant to spells than to physical attacks.

He spent a few moments dodging the beast's attempts to grab him. He was still unarmoured and if the demon contacted with him he didn't like his chances of staying conscious. He certainly wouldn't survive if it managed to catch hold of him and try to crush him.

Suddenly the demon staggered forward, clutching at its back. It roared in pain and anger. Alistair could see a flash of a dagger as it buried itself in the back of the beast's neck. The beast flung itself backwards, obviously hoping to dislodge Zevran - for that was who the dagger belonged to - or crush him under its weight.

Zevran lightly leapt backwards off the demon's back as it fell. Alistair took the opportunity to leap onto its chest and plunge Maric's blade into its neck, once and then again as he was splattered with gore. The beast's arms reached up as though to embrace him before giving a shudder and lying still.

He clambered off the corpse. Zevran's companions were slowly reaching their feet and the two mages and Oghren were sheathing their weapons. Miranda came up beside him. "Why a pride demon?" she said.

Zevran prodded the corpse with his foot. "I wonder," he said. "On the other occasions I spoke with him he mentioned his interpretation of the prophecy was ridiculed by his fellow Tevinter scholars. Maybe the vindication he saw in the mirror was enough to tempt a demon from the fade?"

Rowan nodded. "Possibly," he said. "Although it's also possible the pride demon had been with him for years. No harrowing for mages here. There must me many magisters and mages who have been corrupted by demons of the fade."

"There's a comforting thought," Anders said.

"Zevran, don't go near it," Alistair said, sheathing his sword. Zevran was approaching the mirror, curiously.

The elf turned back to Alistair and cocked his eyebrow. "Why not?"

"It's tainted. Somehow linked to the darkspawn. We can both sense it," Miranda said. "If you get too close you could be corrupted."

"If you get too close it could kill you," Alistair said. "I've seen one of these before."

Miranda looked at him. "You have?"

"A month or two before Ostagar," he said. "Duncan and I were visiting a Dalish clan - Duncan was looking for recruits - the dreams had just started again.."

"What happened?"

"Two of the Dalish had discovered one of these in a Tevinter ruin. The first was killed outright - taken by darkspawn when he activated the mirror. The second... she died later. The mirror tainted her."

"I've never heard of an _object_ carrying the taint before," Miranda said.

"Duncan destroyed the mirror in Ferelden," he said. "Once they've been activated the darkspawn can't seem to keep away from them, he said. I'm surprised there aren't any here, seeing as Sorren was actively using it for so long."

"Maybe he was shielding it somehow?" Miranda said. "We didn't detect its taint until we were inside the tower..."

"In which case now that he's been killed it's possible it's no longer shielded," Rowan said.

"_In_ which case, shouldn't we do something about the mirror?" Anders said. "I for one am not keen on fighting our way out of the tower through a horde of darkspawn."

"Not after fighting our way all the way up here through a horde of sodding Tevinters," added Oghren.

"Duncan smashed the Ferelden mirror with his sword," Alistair said. Zevran went to draw his dagger, but Alistair shook his head again. "I think everyone else should get out of the room," he said. "When Duncan destroyed the last one, the only people in the room were wardens or already tainted. I don't want to risk.... infecting anyone else."

They dispersed, save for Miranda and Anders. "You too, my love," Alistair said stroking her cheek. "You may carry the taint, but our baby doesn't." She nodded and joined the others.

Anders raised his eyebrow at Alistair. "You're not tempted to try and use it?" he asked.

"Curiosity is admirable when there's no chance it will kill you," Alistair replied. "You might want to cover your eyes - there'll still be shattering glass."

He approached the mirror and drew Maric's blade. Its surface seemed to be more liquid than solid - his reflection was slightly distorted. As he raised his sword, he could hear a deep voice whispering something. The picture in the mirror shifted, but before he could make out what the new image was he swung the blade and shattered it.

"Well, that's that then," Anders said, uncovering his eyes. Alistair gave a heavy sigh. "Something wrong?" the mage said.

"Yes," he replied. "Now I have to get on that sodding boat again."


	19. Chapter 19

The road home was long, but less tense than the way there had been. Although Alistair was unwilling to dismiss the danger as completely dealt with, Zevran assured him that there would be no more attacks - Sorren was the man with the resources. There were still people who believed in the prophecy and it was possible they would make trouble again, but they were neither organised nor wealthy enough to continue their attacks at the same level.

They crossed the Silent Plains. Miranda's belly reached enormous proportions. Anders and Rowan continued to monitor her - pronouncing the baby remarkably healthy considering she had been traveling for most of the pregnancy.

They were two days from Val Royeaux when Miranda called for them to make an early camp.

"Not another false alarm?" Alistair said, rushing to her side in the wagon. She smiled at him.

"Possibly," she said. "Although...." she stopped and gasped, clutching at her stomach "although this time.. they hurt a lot more."

Anders and Rowan had been preparing for this for nearly a month. They carried extra water, elfroot and swaddling blankets in the wagon. They set up camp, using a large length of extra canvas to make a tent big enough for Miranda and three grown men to be inside at the same time.

"How long have you been having the contractions for?" Rowan asked Miranda as she paced around the fire.

"They started this morning," she said.

"What?" Alistair said. "You didn't say anything!"

She smiled at him. "I thought it was another false alarm," she said, then clutched at his arm as another contraction came. She breathed deeply for a few seconds before straightening again.

"They're coming more quickly," Rowan said. She nodded.

"Shouldn't you be lying down?" Alistair asked her.

Rowan gently patted Alistair's shoulder. "Really, your majesty, the best thing for the Queen to do at the moment is _whatever she feels like. _Walking will encourage her waters to break and take her mind off the pain."

"Is it really painful?" he asked her.

She rolled her eyes at him. "Remember that time, in the deep roads, when that darkspawn used the flat of his blade to hit you from behind between your...."

He winced and held up his hands. "Ok, it's really painful. I get it."

"I can almost guarantee you that it's more painful than that," she said, then doubled over again. "Um, Rowan?" she said. "I think my waters just broke."

After that it was just a bit like the worst battle he had ever been in. Miranda had powerful lungs and even more powerful hands. They moved to the tent after her waters broke and dressed Miranda in her plain white sleeping shift. She spent most of the next six hours on her hands and knees - she said it felt better than being on her back and Rowan insisted that it was one of the best positions to give birth in.

Alistair had thought he would be more afraid, but when it got down to it, there wasn't really time for fear. Miranda was in a great deal of pain, but she was coping with it in her own way and her confidence calmed him. Rowan assured them both that the baby was in a good position and perfectly ready to be born. All they needed to do was wait.

When the time came for Miranda to push, Alistair felt like he'd been put through a wringer. Miranda had been wounded before in battle, sometimes seriously, but she had never screamed quite the way she was now and he shuddered to think how bad the pain was.

"It's not so much that it's worse.." she said. "It's just that it keeps coming," she managed to get out when the contractions were a few minutes apart.

"One of the women I helped during a birth explained it to me once," Rowan said to Alistair as she stopped talking to let out a stream of curses that would make Oghren blush - and probably did seeing as he was just outside the tent, "she said you can deal with being stabbed - but it's a bit more difficult to deal with being stabbed when you know you're going to be stabbed _in the same spot _again and again and again."

It was at that point that Anders excused himself.

Thankfully, the final stages were quick. She delivered the babe still on her hands and knees with Alistair in front of her, holding her shoulders. The effort she expended for the final push was enormous, but her expression afterwards told him the job was done. "He's out!" Rowan said. There was a pause, then a few wet coughs and a lusty yell emerged from the tiny throat.

"Thank the sodding maker," Miranda gasped out. Alistair couldn't help but laugh a little at that.

"One final push for the afterbirth, your majesty," Rowan said. She made a final effort, then Alistair helped her turn around and she collapsed against him. He sat and cradled her in his arms, looking up at Rowan.

Rowan was holding something red and wet and squirming. To Alistair it looked nothing like a baby and he had a dreadful moment of thinking that his wife had given birth to a darkspawn. "Your majesties," he said, passing it to Miranda, who gently laid it in the crook of her arm. "Your son." The mage wrapped the afterbirth quickly and cut and tied the cord, before bowing. "Congratulations," he said. "Remember what I told you about nursing, your majesty. And now I'll leave you to get acquainted." The mage slipped outside. Alistair didn't see him leave.

It _was _a human baby. A crop of dark hair crowned the tiny head. His eyes were open - light brown like Alistair's, blinking in the candlelight. Tiny fists waved and his mouth opened and shut as though he was tasting the air. He turned his head towards Miranda's chest, nosing and nuzzling against the fabric of her nightshirt.

"Do you think...?" Alistair started to say. Miranda nodded and fumbled with her nightgown. She led the baby to her breast and he began nursing noisily.

Miranda's looked up at Alistair, and her eyes held so much wonder that he felt his own filling with tears. "Duncan," she said then. "I think Duncan is a fine name, don't you?"

He smiled at her and nodded, too full of feeling to reply.

Anders sat staring into the fire, head slumped in shame. "Cheer up sparkle fingers," Oghren said. "You're much better off out here than in there. _Believe _me."

"I don't get it," the warden mage said. "I've faced broodmothers - the architect, abominations. I've seen men get their limbs ripped from their bodies by demons. Why can't I watch a woman give birth?"

"It's like I said..." Oghren started to say.

"If you make that comment about the inn again," Anders growled, "I will cone of cold your genitals and feed them to you through your nose. That's the _queen _your talking about, you two foot snotslug."

"Just you try it, fancy boy. I'll boil your eyeballs and string them on your intestines for a necklace."

"Well, I'll..."

"_Please,_ gentlemen!" Zevran interrupted. "Really. Your immaturity is amusing for the first few seconds but ultimately deeply disturbing. And fruitless."

There was another scream from the tent.

"It can't possibly hurt that much, can it?" Anders said. "I mean, most women in the world give birth at some stage. Wouldn't they just.... give it up if it hurt that much?"

"Felsi said she forgot about the pain after the first couple of days," Oghren said. "Although she never forgot that it hurt - she did forget _how_. That's what she said to me any way."

"Well I hope for the Queen's sake the same is true for her," Anders said. They stared into the fire for a few more minutes before there was another scream from the tent.

"He's out!" came a shout - Rowan's voice. They all tensed, looking towards the sound. It was completely quiet for a moment, then they heard the unmistakable sound of a baby's yell.

It seemed another age before Rowan came out, wiping hands that were, Anders noted with a gulp, covered in blood.

"Is she...?" Anders asked.

"Mother and baby perfectly fine," Rowan said. "I've left them to get acquainted."

There was a massive sigh of relief. Rowan grinned at Anders and clapped him on the shoulder. "Still want to be present at a birth, my friend?" he asked.

Anders cocked an eyebrow at the older mage and sighed. "It looks like I'm not cut out for midwifery," he said.

"Or anything," grunted Ogrhen.

"Got the spell ready, right here short stuff," Anders said.

Zevran sighed.

There was a fair to welcome the royal couple home to Denerim after their long absence. The people were ecstatic to have them back - although Fergus had been a capable and popular regent, there was something to be said for having King Alistair and the champion of Ferelden once again where the people wanted them.

The night of their arrival, Alistair settled Duncan into his cot in their quarters and turned to Miranda. She was still tired - he could see, but under that tiredness there was a joy that ran deeper than anything he'd ever seen in her before. She seemed complete, the damage done by the losses of the last four years - and before - finally healed.

"You're more beautiful now than you've ever been," he said, gathering her in his arms. She laid her head on his shoulder and sighed deeply.

"I suppose you wouldn't believe me if I said the same about you," she said.

"Probably not," he said. "Although it doesn't hurt to hear it."

She looked up at him and smiled. He kissed her, then, deeply and completely.

He had a family now, he found himself thinking. A _real _family. Made up of people he loved, and who loved him in return.

He had never wanted anything else.


End file.
